


The (Mis)Adventures of the Philadelphia LGBT Club

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone
Genre: Established Relationship, Modern AU, Multi, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, tags subject to change as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-03-24 00:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13799118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: A 1776 modern au. Friends will be made. Fun will be had. John Adams will not sit down.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the culmination of my all-encompassing obsession with 1776. Comments are highly appreciated. Please.
> 
> (I plan to update twice a week, on Sunday and Wednesday evenings. If I'm late, please forgive me.)

   The pamphlet had been pinned to the bulletin board outside his office for a while, and somehow Lyman had failed to notice it for months, until the colored ink had faded and the corners curled in on themselves. He’d noticed it entirely on accident, as he attempted to return a memo pertaining to flu vaccinations that had torn off and fallen to the ground to the board, his hand brushing against the aged pamphlet that had finally caught his eye. What had actually caught his eye, in particular, was the gaudy, overly saturated comic sans, in what looked like could have been magenta when it was originally printed. Flu vaccinations forgotten, he pulled the pamphlet down off the board, tearing it where it had been pinned, though he doubted anyone would miss it.

   Lyman was far from a graphic designer, but he could tell that whoever had designed this pamphlet wasn’t either. His eyes scanned the aged paper and slowly pieced together the pamphlet’s intended purpose. An LGBT club, here in Philadelphia, and judging from the address on the back, less than fifteen minutes from the hospital where Lyman worked. Inside a church, it seemed. A cringing smile appeared on his face despite himself. He blinked, momentarily lost in thought, before crumpling the paper in his hand and returning to his office. Somehow, perhaps subconsciously, when he had intended to simply dispose of the paper in a nearby waste bin, he shoved it into the pocket of his lab coat. Collapsing ungracefully into his chair, the sudden force causing it to roll back a bit, he stared up at the bright fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling. Though he’d worked as a doctor for decades now, the cold air and smell of saline still put him slightly on edge, and he fiddled uncomfortably with his tie. He blinked. Every single day had been like this, boring, tiresome, and repetitive since he’d moved to the city over three months ago. His coworkers were cordial to him, of course, but he hadn’t had an actual conversation with someone in months. He was never really the type to feel lonely, but as the weeks wore on he couldn’t help but feel like some kind of human connection was missing from his life. His face settled into his regular scowl as he pondered his lack of friends. He’d moved to Philadelphia for work and had nothing back in Georgia to look back on. Work, it seemed, was all he had. He’d picked up various hobbies over the years, but had quickly dropped them, and nearly gave up on any sort of social interaction at all. He didn’t mind it entirely, but the gut-wrenching pain of coming home to his empty, cold apartment day after day, gradually began to wear on his mental state, to the point he looked for excuses to work late into the night. He rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, half considering taking a nap on his desk. He’d felt cripplingly tired as of late, no doubt due to his inability to fall asleep, instead, lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and silently lamenting on how no one would miss him if he were to meet… unfortunate circumstances.

Perhaps he should get a cat.

 

    Letting his hands rest in his pockets, he absentmindedly fingered the crumpled paper in his pocket. Part of him knew his anti-social shut-in behavior was unhealthy, but that part didn’t always win out over the existential dread he felt at the thought of needing to make small talk with strangers. Still, he pulled the crumpled pamphlet out of his pocket, and with a sort of nausea, looked it over again. He needed friends. With a sigh that gradually turned into a groan, he rested his head on his desk, with a resolution to attend the next meeting.

    Meanwhile, a few blocks south in a small, stuffy courtroom, two men were bickering back and forth, to the point that it seemed to nearby onlookers that they would soon resort to physical violence. It was a small case, petty theft, with a sentence of only a meager fine. Still, to the two lawyers, it seemed like a life or death issue. The judge, jury and small audience all seemed incredibly beleaguered by the lawyers’ antics and were repeatedly checking their watches. The taller of the two lawyers, dressed in an expertly tailored green suit and a near-visible air of conceitedness spat something especially heinous, causing the other lawyer to gasp, bare his teeth and march determinedly up to his opponent, hands balled into fists. As he opened his mouth to speak, the loud bangs of the judge’s gavel rang out through the small courtroom, perhaps to prevent any physical violence.

“Mr. Dickinson! I would prefer it if you did not bring Mr. Adams’ sex life into question in my courtroom, seeing as it has nothing to do with this case!” The judge called out, earning a smug smirk from Mr. Dickinson, clearly pointed at Mr. Adams.

“I apologize, sir,” He said with a tone that indicated he was not sorry in the least, “I will return to using Mr. Adams’ own poor arguments against him, rather than these ad hominem attacks.” Mr. Adams muttered something under his breath but returned to his stand. The judge sighed and half-heartedly called for a recess.

People meandered slowly out of the courtroom until only the two lawyers remained, and Dickinson strutted up to where Adams sat, shuffling through papers, thick-rimmed glasses removed from their case and perched on the bridge of his nose, with an absurdly confident air. Dickinson opened his mouth, no doubt to make a particularly cutting statement when Adams cut him off.

“You’re a disgrace to the law, Dickinson.” Dickinson smirked at that.

“You pain me, John. And here I thought we were friends.” Adams snorted, slapping his papers down on the table and removing his glasses with a flourish.

“We are not friends, Dickinson. We are acquaintances, at most.”

Dickinson gave a gasp of mock offense. “You and Thomas had me over for dinner just a week ago!”

“And!” Adams shot up from his seat, “You drank all my wine and yelled at me about housekeeping for hours! We are not friends.”

Dickinson gave a disgruntled ‘hmph’ his nose pointed in the air. “Not my fault you’re so…” He trailed off for a moment, only angering Adams further, “Unrefined.”

“Prick.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I think you might be the source of all those gay stereotypes, John.”

“Is that necessarily a bad thing?”

Adams gave a shrug and returned his glasses to his face. “I’m guessing I will see you tomorrow night?”

Dickinson nodded. “Of course.”

“Ugh.”

“Fuck off, John.”

“And I’m guessing Rutledge will be there as well? He didn’t come last week, or the week before that now that I think of it.”

Dickinson had taken a particular interest in his fingernails, inspecting them rigorously for any dirt that he imagined could be there. “Yes, he will.”

“Uggghh.”

“Fuck off, John,” Dickinson repeated.

“The both of you are terrible on your own, but together you’re insufferable!”

Dickinson smiled, an actual, warm smile this time.

“I wish you two had never become friends,” Adams continued, “It’s been nothing but a hindrance on my life. I could swear, it’s like you’re married to him.”

Dickinson’s warm smile faltered and was replaced with a look of disgust.

“Disgusting.”

Adams laughed, shoving his paperwork haphazardly into his suitcase. “Goodbye John.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye, John,” Dickinson echoed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Dr. Lyman Hall's journey into an inescapable hell. Well, not really. But it's still pretty damn hot.

The air surrounding him was warm and uncomfortably humid as Lyman stood outside of the church, his denim jacket weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was positive he was in the right place, having checked the address on the back of the pamphlet three times, but nevertheless, he stood awkwardly in front of the door, biting his lip. He was honestly a bit proud of himself for working up the energy to leave the house, much less willingly go somewhere where he’d have to socialize. Still, cold anxiety clawed at his stomach, preventing him from moving from where he stood. 

He wasn’t exactly sure he belonged here. Of course, he was entirely gay, he wasn’t about to doubt that. In fact, he was entirely open about it with whoever cared enough to ask. His only hesitation was he hadn’t actually been with someone in decades. He fully understood that it was a stupid thing to think, but nonetheless, a small part of him wasn’t entirely sure he still counted. With a loud sigh, startling a few passersby, he shook his head and rested his hand on the door handle. 

“You need friends, Lyman,” He mumbled to himself, “Or you will die alone.”

Closing his eyes, he turned the handle and stepped inside, immediately greeted by cold air and the smell of dust. Hesitantly blinking his eyes open, he quietly shut the door behind him. Gazing around the tall-ceilinged room, he noticed it was entirely devoid of people, only rows of empty pews and flickering candles, giving off the somewhat comforting scent of burning wax. He swallowed, anxiety welling up in his chest again. He’d expected people to be here, he’d come at the right time, hadn’t he? So why-

“Hello!”

A chipper voice rang out from the small hallway next to him and Lyman gave a startled yelp, stumbling backward to face the sudden intruder. The man’s bright smile faded into a look of worry, and he pulled his hands to his chest reflexively.

“Oh dear, I am so sorry. You must believe it was not my intention to frighten you,” He said in a voice that was almost suspiciously kind. Momentarily lost for words, Lyman blinked, shoving his hands into his pockets. Lyman reckoned he would not have been so startled if the man had not been so absurdly tall. With neatly groomed grey hair and a countenance that utterly exuded graciousness and civility, he stood nearly a full head taller than Lyman, who estimated he couldn’t be under six foot five. He wore a collar that signified he was clearly of some religious affiliation, no doubt working in the church. The man fixed him with an awkward, almost pitying expression, and Lyman realized for the first time that he was supposed to say something.

“I… uh... “ Lyman froze, not really sure how to explain what he was doing there. “I’m here for… for the-”

The man cut him off, his patience now seeming more like a front.

“Are you here for the club?”

Lyman considered saying something, but instead just nodded.

“That’s downstairs,” He paused, “But no one’s here yet. Are you new?”

Having finally regained his ability to speak, Lyman cleared his throat.

“Yes. This is my first time. Although the pamphlet said Thursday nights at seven… why is nobody here?” 

The man sighed, rolling his eyes. “Nobody in that club is punctual in the slightest. I try not to get on their case but…” He trailed off.

“Are you not a member?”

Apparently, Lyman’s question was not well received, as the man suddenly went red and took a step back. “No! No. I- I’m not- I’m just-” He stammered defensively.

“You’re not gay?” Lyman prompted. 

The man shook his head over-enthusiastically. “Nope,” He said, and Lyman could have sworn his voice had gone up an octave.

“Ah. Okay,” Lyman responded, entirely unconvinced. After an uncomfortable silence, Lyman changed the subject. “Now that I think of it, I never got your name…” 

The man perked up, clearly relieved that his sexuality was no longer in question. His calm smile returned to his face. “Yes- I’m John. The Reverend. The Reverend John Witherspoon.” 

Lyman nodded, trying not to laugh. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lyman.” Lyman decided to skip his titles. John smiled even more enthusiastically and grabbed Lyman’s hand. 

“It’s great to meet you. I hope-” John trailed off as an argument could clearly be heard from outside. It was too muffled for Lyman to make out exactly what they were saying, but judging from the sudden tired expression on John’s face, Lyman guessed this was a regular occurrence. With a bang and a wince from John, the doors slammed open to reveal two men, bickering back and forth, followed by another man in a grey sweater who looked to be suffering from extreme second-hand embarrassment at the others’ argument. 

“Gentlemen, please-” Witherspoon started in a quiet voice, but the two men simply ignored him and marched off into the hallway, still at each other’s throats. Witherspoon gave them a withering look, but quickly returned to his usual kind demeanor when he noticed the other. He gave the small man a smile, and it was returned with an air of exhaustion. Lyman noticed the sort of calm aura the newcomer carried with him, only accentuated by the comfortable looking sweater and large glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“James!” John chirped, “Lovely to see you.” Without waiting for James to respond, John placed his hand on Lyman’s back and shoved him forward. “James, this is Lyman.” James smiled at Lyman earnestly and shook his hand. “He’s new here. Make him feel welcome.”

James nodded, then turned to Lyman. “A pleasure to meet you. Those two men you just saw were my friend John and… also John.” 

Lyman blinked. “Lots of Johns.” James gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Yes…” He paused. “There’s another but he doesn’t show up often.” Lyman didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he shrugged and changed the subject. 

“Are they- are they always like that?” Lyman gestured offhandedly to the hallway, earning himself a quiet laugh from James.

“Well… yes. They are. See, they work together and…” James shrugged, “They really can’t stand each other. Adams- that’s the short one- no one can stand him. And Dickinson just likes to bait him into arguments.” 

Lyman stood quietly for a moment. 

“This club sounds incredibly dysfunctional.” Sudden laughter from James caused Lyman to jump, and a smile spread across his face, feeling relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived.

“Yes, we’re incredibly dysfunctional. But I suppose deep down we all care for one another so… it works.” With a small smile, he straightened himself out. “You should come downstairs and meet the others. Everyone else should be showing up soon anyway.” Noticing Lyman’s hesitation he continued, “And there’s coffee.” Lyman perked up and hurriedly followed James downstairs. 

The basement of the church was significantly colder, though not unwelcoming, and Lyman entered into a large, high ceilinged room, carpeted and lit by sconce lamps along the wall. A large circle of folding chairs were all placed facing each other, and only a few were occupied by people. A particularly short, scowling man, who he’d presumed was one of the Johns, didn’t seem to pay him any notice as he sat reading with one leg propped up on the other. He momentarily glanced up at Lyman, gave him a rapt nod, and returned to his book. James had somehow disappeared while Lyman wasn’t looking, and his sudden disappearance made Lyman feel more alone and uncomfortable than before. Biting his lip and shoving his hands into his pockets stiffly, he gradually migrated towards the corner of the room. His dark eyes scanned the room and his body went stiff with nervous tension as it always did in social situations. His stomach lurched and his eyes went wide as he felt a warm hand on the small of his back, and he whipped around to face whoever had touched him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” He snapped at the man next to him, who took a few steps back, clearly not expecting such an explosive reaction. He raised his hands defensively, his face expressing slight confusion.

“I’m sorry, sir,” He said in a thick southern drawl, a voice that instantly undid the tension that wracked Lyman’s nerves, “I meant no… offense.” Delicate eyebrows arched upward above striking blue eyes in a look of apology, and he slowly lowered his hands and resumed a more casual position. Thick, ginger hair fell messily across his forehead and now that the tension between them had been mostly resolved, a cautious smile played on his lips. 

Trembling a bit more than he’d like to admit and wondering why his tongue felt like lead, Lyman swallowed and scratched the back of his head, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. 

“No, I-” He stumbled over his words, “I’m sorry. For snapping at you, I just- Well-” He trailed off, and the comfortable smile grew on the other man’s lips, causing Lyman to only feel more embarrassed. The other man stuck his hand out and after a brief moment, Lyman took it, only causing the stranger to smile more.

“Are you new here?” He asked, in the same deep, honeyed voice that made Lyman feel oddly at ease. Lyman gave a stiff nod. “Ah,” the stranger grinned, “My name is Edward Rutledge-” He paused, “Though nobody calls me that. Eddie. Or Neddie. Or Ned.” Lyman grinned despite himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eddie-” he paused, “Uh, Ned. Neddie. Ed?” Edward stared at him blankly, and Lyman felt his cheeks get hot with embarrassment once again, until Edward burst out laughing, placing a warm hand on Lyman’s shoulder. 

“That’s fine too,” He said with a smile. “But I’d feel like a terrible companion if you didn’t introduce yourself as well,” And he tried his best to look serious.

“Oh!” Lyman laughed nervously, “I’m Doct- um, well, Lyman. It’s Lyman.”

Edward gripped his hand tighter, which caused Lyman to realize he hadn’t let go of it the whole time they were speaking. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Lyman.” His eyebrows perked up, “Shall I introd-”

“Eddie!” A voice rang out from across the room, causing Edward to let go of Lyman’s hand. They both whipped around to face the source of the call, to see a well-dressed man strutting across the room with a smug look plastered across his face. His soft, brown curls were tied up with a neat ribbon and bounced slightly as he walked. “Eddie,” He repeated, causing Edward to roll his eyes dramatically, “Stop harassing the newcomers.” Edward huffed, and looked like he was about to speak when the other man turned to Lyman.

“Was our dear Mr. Rutledge troubling you?” He asked, looking almost condescending. 

“John, I was not-” Edward cut in before John fixed him with a glare. Edward sighed and turned to Lyman, who was looking more uncomfortable by the minute, and gave him his usual smile, albeit a bit more strained this time. “Lyman, this is my dear friend,” He spoke the word ‘friend’ through gritted teeth, “John Dickinson.” Lyman nodded awkwardly, not sure exactly what to make of the two, who had now returned to bickering. He watched them for a moment as they spat out insults towards each other, grins lighting up their faces, and Lyman considered that perhaps they really were friends, and they simply exhibited a closer friendship than he’d ever known. 

 

Mumbling something about coffee, he extracted himself from the middle of their argument and slowly made his way towards the coffee machine, subconsciously avoiding eye contact with other people. He noticed that there were plenty more unfamiliar faces than before, and perhaps he hadn’t been paying enough attention to see them come in. His attention was easily captured by Edward’s calm smile and bright eyes. He sighed and pushed those thoughts out of his head. Gazing around the room over a styrofoam cup of steaming coffee, he tried to piece together who all of these new faces were. 

A tall, freckled ginger had just noticed the smaller man from before, whom Lyman had decided through the power of deductive reasoning must have been John Adams, and hugged him with a smile, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. Lyman smiled into his coffee. A considerably older man gave them a dirty look before taking a swig out of a silver flask, and Adams returned the dirty look before dragging the tall ginger down by his collar and kissing him fiercely against the wall. Lyman blinked, but couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the awkward, sudden make-out session until he heard a sigh and turned to see Wilson, giving the couple a withering look. 

“They do this every week,” James said bluntly. Lyman nodded, now feeling more confused than uncomfortable. 

James looked up at him, blinking tiredly. “Honestly, I’d suggest getting out of here while you can. Before you’re stuck with us.” 

Lyman laughed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee. “No, I think I’m enjoying myself.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dickinson's friendship is tested and Mr. Rutledge laments his ever increasing pile of one-night stands.

“You, Edward,” Dickinson snarled, the light of humor barely glinting in his eyes, “Are an absolute prick.” 

Undeterred by his friend’s insult, Rutledge merely smirked, giving Dickinson a gentle shove. John stumbled backward and fixed Edward with a pointed glare, trying his hardest to keep a serious look on his face.

“Yes, John,” he drawled, “But yet you still adore me. So I must be doing something right.” 

Dickinson blinked. “I do not adore you.” 

Edward shrugged. “But you don’t hate me.” He said smugly, with a grin dripping with self-satisfaction. 

After a moment of silence, Dickinson leaned forward and, with a faked look of annoyance, flicked him on the nose. Rutledge gave an offended gasp and slapped Dickinson’s hand away. 

“That’s a particularly confident statement, Eddie.”

Edward’s eyes widened and he sniffed, pretending to be incredibly hurt by his friend’s words. “You don’t hate me, do you, John?” 

Dickinson’s eyebrows furrowed together, clearly exasperated by Edward’s dramatics. He gave a defeated sigh. “I suppose not. I suppose I’ve known you for too long to hate you at this point. I begrudgingly tolerate your existence, Eddie.” Seeing as Edward’s disposition hadn’t changed, John sighed again, somewhat doubting their friendship. He placed a finger under Edward’s chin, tilting it upwards. “And stop with the pouting. It’s unbecoming.” 

Edward broke out into a grin and put a hand on John’s head, lacing his fingers through the thick, brown, curls. He tugged on them a bit roughly, eliciting a disgruntled hum from Dickinson, and pressed a momentary kiss to his friend’s forehead. 

“You love me.”

“Ugh. Fine.” 

Satisfied with that answer, Edward smiled, releasing his grip on Dickinson’s hair. John immediately set about fixing whatever he imagined Edward had messed up, retrieving a comb from the inside pocket of his coat. After straightening himself out, John looked back at his friend, a smile finally forcing its way onto his face. He started to speak, just to realize Edward wasn’t paying attention, in fact, he wasn’t even looking at him anymore. After a moment John realized he was staring at the man from before, the newcomer, who’d situated himself at the coffee machine next to Wilson. He looked deep in thought, his clear eyes fixated on the man. John blinked.

“Eddie.” Edward didn’t seem to notice and Dickinson rolled his eyes. “Edward.” After the second time he was called, Edward’s eyebrows raised momentarily and he looked at John, a questioning look on his face. John’s eyebrows furrowed in their usual way, and Edward couldn’t help but smile. John sighed.

“Luckily for you, I doubt he noticed you staring,” He said bluntly. Edward’s cheeks went a bit red, though John wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. Edward made a disgruntled pout and folded his arms over his chest. John smiled to himself, mentally comparing his friend with an indignant toddler.

“I was not staring, John,” He said through gritted teeth, his usually deep voice considerably lower, “I was zoning out. He happened to be in the way.” 

John smirked, knowing full well that when Edward got defensive it was almost always because he was lying. After a few moments, Edward, almost subconsciously, returned to staring and John rested an arm on his shoulder. John smiled at his friend’s pathetic obsession. It was incredibly rare to see Edward take an actual interest in somebody, other than for his ever-increasing collection of one night stands. He looked over at the man Edward was staring at. He was taller than the both of them, with greying hair, and he could have looked objectively attractive if he hadn’t looked like this was the last place on Earth he wanted to be. He looked at his coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to this world.

John eventually broke the silence. 

“What’s his name?”

“Lyman,” Edward mumbled, sounding entirely detached from John’s presence, and continued to stare. John smirked, resting his chin on top of his arm, which was still draped over Edward’s shoulder, bringing his face uncomfortably close to Edward’s ear.

“And do you like him?”

That seemed to bring Edward back into focus. He paused. “No.”

“It really seems like it, Eddie. You know you can tell me anything,” John drawled, sounding a bit more sarcastic than he had intended. Edward gave him a grimace, scrunching his nose in a way that somehow still managed to look vaguely cute.

“Drop it, John.” 

Dickinson grinned, knowing he had him and gave his friend a gentle shove. “You like him!” 

Edward gave him a flat look. “I hardly know him.”

“I don’t recall that ever having stopped you before…” John trailed off, removing his head from Edward’s shoulder and looking away, knowing full well his friend would not take kindly to that statement.

Edward blinked before his face fell into a glare and he punched John in the arm. “Screw yourself, Dickinson.” John winced and rubbed his bicep, before giving an irritated huff. After a moment of sulking, John shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and gazed around the room.

“Do you think the new guy is going to stay?” He asked offhandedly. Edward didn’t respond immediately, instead, giving John a lazy shrug.

“I certainly hope so. He seems… lovely.” Edward didn’t look at John, nor at Lyman, and he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. John sighed, and patted Edward on the back.

“Go talk to him,” John smirked. ”Before he tries to escape.” 

Edward rolled his eyes and turned to say something, only to notice John had already walked away to talk to a small group of people in the middle of the room. Edward sighed, unsure of whether or not he should keep fighting his feelings. Suddenly incredibly tired, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, before blinking them open again. Despite his better judgment he looked back over at Lyman, who seemed even more alone and overwhelmed than before. Edward smiled despite himself.

“Lyman!” He called out, causing the man in question to visibly jump, spilling his now lukewarm coffee over his hand. Lyman looked over at Edward with wide eyes, and Edward slowly approached him, trying his best at a welcoming smile. Lyman smiled awkwardly in return, but seemed pleased to be noticed, and wiped his coffee covered hand on his jeans. Seeing as he was now standing next to him, Edward soon realized he had no idea what to do or say. Lyman stared at him questioningly, his dark eyes giving off an almost puppyish demeanor. Edward swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Lyman started awkwardly, seeing that Rutledge had nothing to say. Rutledge felt like a complete and utter idiot. He never started conversations without planning them out in his head beforehand, what was he thinking? His charm could only carry him so far and- “What can I do for you?” Lyman asked earnestly, stopping Edward’s train of thought immediately. He tilted his head questioningly and Edward felt uncharacteristically nervous. 

“Well, you see…” He began, going off the top of his head, “Earlier I was going to suggest I introduce you to everybody. I was wondering if you’d be up to that?”   
A small smile appeared on Lyman’s face and Edward fought to keep his calm complexion. “That sounds lovely, Ed,” He responded with an energetic nod. 

Edward couldn’t avoid the smile that crept onto his lips and he made an awkward attempt to hide it with his hand. “Wonderful. We don’t actually get new members very often. I’m sure everyone is excited to meet you, even if they don’t seem like it.” 

Lyman nodded in response, following Edward’s footsteps as he led Lyman away from the safety of the coffee machine. Lyman stared around the room as he followed Edward nervously, trying his best not to look like he didn’t belong. As he was entirely preoccupied with how he imagined everyone was looking at him, he didn’t notice that Edward had stopped and he continued to walk into him. After a hastily mumbled apology, he shoved his hands into his pockets, determined to stop looking like an idiot. 

Edward looked up at him and gesticulated to a group of men before him, insinuating that these were the men he’d meant to introduce him to. Lyman swallowed and took a small step forward, before offering a small wave and a smile. It was a small group of four men, including James, and they all nodded at Lyman kindly, if not a bit awkwardly. Edward cleared his throat, before gesturing to James.

“I believe you’ve met Mr. Wilson,” Both James and Lyman nodded, “And this is Mr. Joseph Hewes,” Hewes gave Lyman a stiff nod, “Mr. George Read,” Read, a particularly short man, with platinum blonde, curly hair waved at Lyman excitedly, “And Mr. Roger Sherman.” Sherman gave Lyman a wary look and a small nod. Lyman gave them all a small smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” He said quietly, and they all mumbled their agreement.

“These gentlemen usually hang out together,” Rutledge continued, “doing… whatever the hell it is they do.”

“Now Mr. Rutledge-” Hewes began, but Edward ignored him. 

“We- we play Dungeons and Dragons sometimes…” Roger spoke up quietly. The rest of the group nodded. 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s very interesting,” Edward said offhandedly, placing his hand on the small of Lyman’s back, smiling to himself when Lyman didn’t jump at his touch. Lyman gave Edward a questioning look, and seeing that he wasn’t very interested in continuing to talk to these men, he then turned to the small group.

“It was very nice meeting you all,” He said, hoping his words came out as sincerely as he felt. With his hand still on Lyman’s back, Edward guided him slowly away until he was stopped in his tracks by a resounding “WOOOOHOOOOO!” from behind them. Surprisingly, Lyman didn’t jump, just stood there stiffly with a sort of shocked numbness, while Edward sighed.

“Here we go,” He muttered, though he didn’t look particularly angry. Edward turned around slowly, with an amused smile, to see the source of the shout. A particularly tall man in a bomber jacket had picked up Mr. Adams, who was demanding to be put down. The man just grinned brightly, before handing Mr. Adams off to the tall ginger, and running a hand through his uncombed, curly hair. A silver curl in front stood out in his dark hair, and with his wild gesticulation, gave him an almost cartoonish look. Mr. Adams, on the other hand, had returned to his book, his features falling into a disgruntled grimace. Since then, Lyman had turned around to see the spectacle, and had a terribly bemused look on his face, before whispering “What in hell..” under his breath. A nervous and confused smile spread on his face, entirely unsure how to react to the presence of this man. Edward laughed out loud, causing Lyman to blush when he realized Edward had heard that.

“Come along then,” Edward said cheerfully, “I think I know who you should be introduced to next.”

“Oh good lord,” He chuckled, 

The next thing Lyman knew, he was being crushed in a bear hug by this overly excitable man with an absurd amount of strength. He gave him an awkward pat on the back and tried to stifle his gasping for breath upon his release. Edward coughed in an attempt to hide his laughter.

“Ah, Lyman, this is-” Edward was cut off as the man stuck his hand out forcibly, waiting for Lyman to take it. Handshakes usually came before hugging, Lyman realized, but he decided that this was hardly the weirdest thing he’d been subjected to today. When Lyman took the man’s hand, he grinned, shaking it wildly. 

“Richard Henry Lee!” He shouted, causing Lyman to jump. Still, Lyman couldn’t help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. 

“Doctor Lyman Hall… a pleasure,” He replied quietly, slowly removing his hand from Richard’s vice-grip. 

Edward’s eyebrows shot up. “A doctor?” 

Lyman gave an awkward half shrug. Edward looked like he was going to say something, before Richard grabbed Lyman by the shoulder, turning him around and shoving him towards John Adams and his ginger companion.

“Johnny, Tommy! This is Lyman. He’s new,” Lee said with an awkward grin, causing Lyman to awkwardly scratch his jaw. Any attempt to be friendly seemed to be wasted on these men, as they didn’t seem aware of his presence. After a few moments, Adams looked up from his book and gave Lyman another nod. The other man didn’t even look up. Richard cleared his throat.

“Doctor Hall, this is John Adams and Thomas Jefferson.” 

“Yes. Hello,” Hall said nervously, missing the safety of the coffee machine. “A pleasure…” His pleasantries weren’t met with a response. Richard had quickly amused himself with someone else, and Lyman returned to Edward’s side, who was trying unsuccessfully to mask his amusement.

“Why do I feel you’re not as eager to stay as you once were, my dear doctor?” Edward said with a smirk. Lyman simply gave him a shaky smile. 

“Trust me, I’m enjoying every minute of this,” He replied earnestly. He looked over at the older man from before, who was still drinking from his hip flask. “I’m just… a tad overwhelmed,” He said with a shrug. “Do you think I could have some of whatever’s in that flask?” Lyman asked quietly to Edward. Rutledge gave a barking laugh before shaking his head emphatically. 

“No. I think he’d physically attack you if you touched his alcohol.” 

Lyman seemed to go a shade paler. “Oh.”

Staring around the room, Lyman pointed out, at random, a teenager with messy blonde hair, who looked like he was in dire need of parenting, or perhaps a hairbrush.

“And him,” Lyman continued, “Should he be here?” He asked, in a concerned voice, “With these…” Lyman trailed off, not really wanting to offend anyone, “..Characters?” 

Edward smiled. “Yeah, that’s Billy. He’s a good kid if a bit… misguided.” 

“And that guy,” Lyman pointed at a particularly large man, dressed in plaid, “Who… Oh my god, is that a gun?” Lyman stared blankly at the large rifle the man was holding, much like a parent would hold their newborn child. Edward simply nodded, growing somewhat impatient with Lyman’s questions. 

“Yes. I’d suggest not touching that either.” 

Lyman just gaped at Edward, utterly bemused as to how he acted like this was entirely normal. 

“He’s got a permit,” Edward continued, matter-of-factly, “Ask him, he’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’ll pass.” 

“That’s Thomas,” Edward said, picking at his nails.

Lyman ran a hand through his hair. “I thought the ginger guy was Thomas?!”

“There’s two! Keep up. Anyway, that’s Thomas, he lives with Read, which makes no sense because I don’t think he hates anyone more, and..” Edward trailed off for a moment, before pointing out a man in the far corner, talking to John Dickinson. “That’s Caesar Rodney. The only tolerable one of the three, in my opinion.”

Lyman nodded. “Yes, I know him.” That got Edward’s attention.

“You do?”

“Mhm. He… is a frequent visitor at the hospital I work at.”

Edward swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit sad. “Oh.”

The two stood in silence for a while, Lyman’s eyebrows furrowing over his dark eyes, which Edward took special care not to stare into. Edward tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t so he nervously scuffed the floor with his shoe. 

“Are you married?” Edward asked out of the blue. Lyman looked at him like he’d grown another head, a nervous smirk playing on his lips.

“Do you see a ring?”

“No,” Edward said plainly, “I just didn’t know how to start this conversation again.” Lyman laughed, causing Edward to try and stifle the overwhelming sensation of butterflies in his stomach.

“What about you?” Lyman asked, for no real reason other than to have something to say. Edward shook his head dismissively.

“No, no, I come home to the cold, crushing, emptiness of my apartment every day,” Edward said in a sarcastic drawl. At first, Lyman hadn’t realized he was joking and was about to give a heartfelt statement about how he related, but coming to the conclusion that he was, in fact, being sarcastic, he immediately felt incredibly embarrassed and shut his mouth, looking at the floor. Edward noticed his companion’s discomfort and stifled a snorting laugh. He reached out for doctor Hall to take his hand. “Come along. I think you’ll really enjoy your time here,” He said with a smile. Lyman took his smaller hand in his own and gave him a beaming smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the local reverend spends some quality time with everyone's favorite cobbler/herpetologist/model boat enthusiast.

By ten o’clock, John Witherspoon, with an awkward wave to James, had watched the last of the Philadelphia LGBT club filter out of the doors of his church. He let out a tired sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding. Standing numbly in the center of the room, he rubbed his tired eyes, scuffing a mark on the marble floor with the point of his shoe. His eyes blinking shut, he lowered himself down onto one of the wooden pews, an exhausted mess. It wasn’t that he minded them- of course he didn’t, they were good people. But  _ good lord, _ could they be overwhelming. 

 

Having twenty to forty people in the basement of his church every Thursday night was a definite recipe for a migraine, and while John was happy to give them a place to meet, often enough he found himself regretting it. He smiled, shaking his head at his own thoughts. No, he didn’t regret it. With an exasperated sigh, he forced himself up from his seat, ignoring the pain in his back, and slowly walked into the hallway, his long legs carrying him across the room faster than most people. He made his way down the stairs, careful not to hit his head on the ceiling, and entered into the basement, which was littered with folding chairs. He groaned.   
  
“Would it kill them to clean up once in a while?” He asked quietly, to no one in particular. Part of him expected an answer, perhaps from God, and when he didn’t receive one, he sighed, and slowly started picking up chairs and stacking them in the corner.  By the time most of the chairs had been stacked, he paused, spacing out for a moment, only to notice the faint sound of snores reach his ears from the far corner. Blinking heavily, he whipped his head around to see someone curled up in the corner of the room, their knees tucked into their chest and their face hidden under a brown hood. 

 

John’s eyebrows furrowed nervously, his gray hair falling across his forehead, a sign that he should have been asleep hours ago. He sighed, stepping quietly over to the huddled shape in the corner, and hesitated, before giving it a firm tap on the head.    
  
It didn’t move, save for the gentle rising and falling of shoulders. John tapped it on the head a few more times, getting rather impatient, and was greeted by a slew of incoherent mumbles. As they looked up, the hood fell off their head and John was greeted by the soft brown eyes of a disoriented and tired man. The two of them stared at each other in awkward silence for a moment, before the man rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and fixed John with a wary look.   
  
“Where is everyone?” He mumbled sleepily.    
  
“They’re gone,” John replied sharply, “It’s ten-thirty. Why are you still here?” The question came out a bit more harshly than he’d intended, and he dragged over one of the remaining chairs to sit down next to the man, who seemed like he wasn’t planning on getting up anytime soon.    
  
A panicked look filled the man’s round eyes and was quickly replaced with anger and disbelief.

 

“They left me!” The man cried, folding his arms over his chest, “I was sleeping, and they left me!” John couldn’t help but give a small chuckle at this outburst, and gently patted him on the shoulder.   
  
“That’s terrible,” John smiled. The man huffed. “What’s your name?” John continued.    
  
His eyebrows raising and his frustration momentarily forgotten, the man turned to John with the same wary, brown eyes. “Roger.” After a smile from John, he asked, “You?”   
  
“I’m John.”    
  
Roger blinked. “No.” He shook his head and stared off into space.   
  
Grey eyebrows furrowed over John’s eyes. He cleared his throat, clearly put off by Roger’s response. “No?”   
  
Roger shook his head, his eyes closed. “No,” He affirmed. “There are too many.”   
  
John blinked. “Too many?”   
  
“Johns!” Roger exclaimed, his eyes lit with a strange frustration at the amount of Johns that he knew. He waved his arms around emphatically. “There are too many Johns,” he continued. “I don’t think I can handle another.” He gave a defeated sigh, letting his hands fall to the floor with a frown.   
  
Witherspoon blinked. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep a half an hour ago and this was some sort of incredibly vivid, exhaustion-induced dream.    
  
“Well... “ He started, unsure of what to say. “That’s my name.” Roger sighed with a defeated nod.

 

“Yes, I suppose it is. Nice to meet you, John.”

 

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

 

Roger looked up at him with a lopsided smile, and John couldn’t resist returning it. He scratched the side of his head, ignoring the uncalled for warmth that flickered in his chest when his eyes met Roger’s.

 

“So.. do you come here often?” He asked sarcastically. Roger didn’t seem to grasp his sarcasm and nodded emphatically.

 

“Yep. Every week.” He paused, “Now that I mention it, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you new?” 

 

John fiddled with a piece of string that had come off of his coat. “No, I’m… I’m not a member. I just work here.”

 

Roger blinked. “Oh.” An uncomfortable silence hung between them. “So you’re not..?” Roger asked awkwardly.

 

“No!” John coughed. “No.”

 

“Ah.” An even longer, more uncomfortable silence passed until Roger made a heavy handed attempt at conversation. “Well… thank you.”   
  
“Hm? For what?”   
  
“For letting us meet here.”   
  
John smiled. “It’s my pleasure, really.” John watched as Roger nervously tapped his fingers against the carpeted floor. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. Brown hair and a soft, nervous expression, John dared to consider him a good looking man. Hell, even handsome. John’s cheeks started to ache, due to his inability to remove the smile from his face. He sighed, perhaps without meaning to, eliciting a startled look from Roger. The shock on his face quickly changed to a warm smile to match John’s. It was only after he noticed they’d been staring at each other for three minutes that John’s face went red and he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

 

“Would you like a ride home?” John asked hurriedly. Roger blinked. 

 

“That’d be great.” 

 

John gave a firm nod before shooting up from his seat. “Could you give me a hand with these chairs?”

 

“Of course.”

 

After a few minutes of silent, tense, chair-stacking, John looked around the room and reached for the last remaining chair. His eyebrows furrowed. Why was it so… warm? Looking down to see he’d placed his hand directly on top of Roger’s, he gave a startled gasp and jerked his hand away. Roger looked at him nervously. 

 

“Oh dear, I- I apologize-“ John stammered. Roger gave a half-hearted shrug.

 

“It’s quite alright..” Roger put away the chair as John stood in the middle of the room, too nervous to say anything. He swallowed, resenting the burning feeling in his cheeks and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. This had to be, no doubt, the worst possible time for these damned  _ feelings  _ to be cropping up, John thought. He scowled at nothing in particular, and would have remained that way for quite a while, if Roger hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder and looked at him with those warm, deer-like eyes. John blinked.   
  
“Hm? Yes?”    
  
Roger only seemed to grow more nervous at John’s rapt response and held his arms into his chest stiffly. “You… you said I could have a ride. I hope I’m not-”    
  
“Yes! Yes, of course,” John responded, whipping around to face the stairs. In a bad attempt to act casual, he marched stiffly towards them, as Roger fought to keep a smile off of his face. Jogging slightly to keep up with John’s absurdly long strides, Roger tried to find something to say to fill the silence.   
  
“Thanks again, for giving me a ride and all.”   
  
John shrugged, facing forward, refusing to meet Roger’s eyes.   
  
“It’s no problem, really. I wasn’t about to have you spend the night here, or something.” Roger laughed, causing John’s lips to twitch into a smirk despite himself. “And I wasn’t about to have you walk home at-” He paused to check his watch, “Damn. Eleven o’clock.” As if invoked by John telling him the time, Roger stifled a yawn into his hand.   
  
“I still can’t believe they forgot me,” He muttered, dark eyebrows furrowing into a scowl. John couldn’t help but smile at the way he resembled an angry puppy. As the two walked out into the parking lot, John breathed in deeply the warm, summer air. The vast expanse of stars overhead caught his eye, and the warmth seemed to ease the constant chill from his bones. He sighed.   
  
“So which of them abandoned you?”    
  
Roger raised an eyebrow, momentarily not understanding the question. “George. And James, of all people!” John gave a small chuckle as he unlocked his car.    
  
“Hm. And I always thought James to be such a caring person.”    
  
Roger sighed, getting into John’s car and planting his hands in his lap and lacing his fingers together. “He is, he is.” He yawned into his hand, rubbing his tired eyes. “They just seem to forget me sometimes, is all.” John’s eyebrows raised in pity, though Roger didn’t seem too affected by what he’d said. John coughed meaningfully into his hand.   
  
“Hm?” Roger gave him an inquisitive glance.   
  
“Seatbelt.”    
  
Roger snorted. “I’m a grown man, John.”   
  
“I’m not moving this car until you put on your seatbelt.”   
  
After a few moments, Roger realized John was being entirely serious. “Fine, fine,” He sighed. As they pulled out of the parking lot, John seemed to relax a little, though he refused to take his eyes off of the road. After giving him his address, Roger sat in uncomfortable silence, unsure whether or not to speak.   
  
“So what do you do for fun?” Asked John out of nowhere, catching Roger off guard. Roger swallowed, not sure how to answer. He didn’t exactly want to alienate John, but he had a tendency to annoy people by talking about his interests, he realized.   
  
“Herpetology,” he mumbled, “And model boats. And cobbling.”    
  
John laughed out loud, causing Roger’s cheeks to go pink.   
  
“Why is that funny?!”   
  
John shook his head. “I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just.. cobbling? I didn’t know people still did that.”   
  
Roger scratched the back of his head, decidedly less defensive. “Yeah, it’s a hobby. Still pretty useful if you don’t want to have to buy new pairs of shoes.”    
  
John smiled. “And herpetology? That’s… lizards, right?”    
  
Roger nodded excitedly. “Yes. And snakes, and turtles, and amphibians and-” He cringed. “Sorry.”   
  
John took his eyes off the road for the first time since they’d left. “Hm? For what?”   
  
“It’s just… I don’t know when to stop talking, honestly.”    
  
John gave a quiet laugh, once again focused on the road. “No, please. It’s quite interesting.”   
  
Somewhat reassured, but still quite nervous, Roger shrugged. “What about you? What do you like to do?”    
  
John swallowed. “I- well-” His voice quietened in embarrassment, “I don’t really do all that much. Other than work.”    
  
“Oh.” Roger looked out the window. “Do you have a girlfriend?”   
  
John froze, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “No! Why would I- why would you ask that?!”    
  
A panicked look struck Roger’s face at John’s sudden shouting and he squeezed his hands together nervously. “It’s a perfectly valid question!” He squeaked.   
  
A bit calmer, John glared out the windshield.   
  
“No. I do not.”    
  
Decidedly done with talking, Roger resumed staring out the window. John felt a pang of guilt at the panicked look Roger had given him, and scowled. It wasn’t Roger’s fault that John was so sensitive.    
  
“So…” John tried, “Do you own any lizards?”   
  
Roger’s eyebrows raised, surprised that someone actually wanted to hear about his interests. “Yes, actually. Seven of them. And a snake. And an iguana named John, which is why I said there were too many Johns earlier..”    
  
John chuckled. “Well I’m sorry, but I don’t plan on changing my name any time soon.” Roger gave him a wide-eyed stare.   
  
“I didn’t expect you to. I think your name is very nice. It’s good on you.”    
  
John’s cheeks tinged red and he continued to stare at the road, trying to keep his brain from thinking about Roger. “Thanks,” He muttered.   
  
After a few more minutes of silence, Roger spoke up quietly. “This is me.” He gave a nod out the window.   
  
“Ah.” John pulled over as Roger slowly undid his seatbelt. “Well, it was very nice to meet you,” he offered. Roger gave him a warm smile and John wanted to punch the butterflies in his stomach.    
  
“Yes, the same to you.. I hope I can see you again soon.”    
  
“Yes. Hopefully.”   
  
“Well,” Roger gave a tired blink, “G’night, John.”    
  
John nodded, tearing his eyes away from Roger’s. “Yes, goodnight.”   
  
By the time he was back home, it was eleven-fifty, and John collapsed into bed, burying his face into his pillow with a groan. He laid there in silence for a full minute, and would have appeared asleep to anybody who could have been present.   
  
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” he mumbled to no one in particular.   
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some local Nice Boys get into some dice rolling shenanigans.

James was greeted with the warm scent of sugar as he opened the door to the bakery. He took a deep breath, reveling in the smell of coffee and baked goods and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He adjusted the leather messenger bag that rested against his thigh. Outside, the evening sky was slowly changing from pink to purple and cars splashed puddles onto the sidewalk as they sped by. A yawn burned in his chest and he blinked heavily. The combination of warm air and dim lighting made him feel safe and sleepy, until he was jolted out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. 

“James! You’re here.”

James turned to face Roger, who was seated at a table in the back corner, nursing a mug of coffee in his hands. Beside him sat the third member of their group, Joseph Hewes. Joseph offered James an off-handed wave. James raised an eyebrow, as he walked over to their table.

“Where else would I be?” He asked, before pulling out a chair and sitting down across from Roger. He placed his bag gently down on the floor. James looked around the room. A display case featuring rows of artfully decorated cakes illuminated the room, the warm light reflecting off of the tile floor. Although he’d just ate, James heard his stomach growl and blushed. “Where’s George?”

“In the back, probably,” Joseph responded, considering stealing a drink from the cooler next to him.

Roger didn’t say anything, preoccupied with something in his lap. Joseph glanced at Roger’s lap and sighed. James looked from Joseph, to Roger, who sheepishly looked away. James looked back at Joseph who nodded. James groaned, pressing a hand to his face.

“What?!” Roger asked defensively, scowling at the man across from him.

“Tell me you didn’t bring-“

“Of course I did,” Roger snapped. James sat back in his chair, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. 

“Why do you always bring the lizard, Roger?”

“He has a name.” Roger looked down at his lap with a pout.

“Why do you always bring Hector?” James asked, amusement winning over. A grin lit up Roger’s face as he plopped a small brown lizard onto the table. The lizard looked up at James with indifference, sticking its tongue out.

“Because I, for one, enjoy his company.” The three of them stared down at Hector, somewhat expecting him to respond. Hector, being a lizard, did no such thing.

The momentary silence was broken by the opening of the kitchen door, and the entrance of George, wearing a pink frosting-stained apron, who proudly lifted a tray of cupcakes in the air. 

“I made cupcakes!” He chirped. The pride on his face quickly turned to disgust upon seeing Hector. “Roger, put that thing away!” He said with a scowl. James and Joseph laughed quietly as Roger sheepishly tucked the lizard into his chest pocket. Still scowling at Roger, George placed the tray of cupcakes on the table, before untying his apron and tossing it over the counter. He noticed the drink in Joseph’s hand.

“Are you gonna pay for that?” He asked flatly. 

“No.”

George sighed and muttered something about being taken advantage of, before walking to the door to flip over the ‘open’ sign. After readying two more cups of coffee for himself and James, George sat down at the table and scowled at the untouched tray of cupcakes. He took a bitter sip of his coffee, glaring at the three of them.

“You guys want these cupcakes, or not?” 

The three of them immediately grabbed a cupcake from the tray, Roger breaking off a small piece to feed to the lizard in his pocket. James leaned over to grab his bag, and pulled it up onto his lap. He fished around in it for a moment, before pulling out a folder and setting it on the table. He opened it to reveal a stack of character sheets; one for himself, Roger and Joseph.

“So what have you got for us today, George?” Roger asked through a mouthful of cupcake.

“It’s a surprise, obviously,” George grimaced. “And please wipe your face.”

An hour later, James was face down on the table, Joseph was laughing his ass off, and George was ready to throw his Dungeon Master’s Guide at Roger.

“I roll again to pet the dog-”

“NO. NOT AGAIN,” George screeched, slamming his hand on the table, causing a twenty-sided die to roll off and clatter to the floor.

“Give me one more try!” Roger whined. George threw his Dungeon Master’s Guide at Roger. Roger gave a nervous yelp and tried to duck, only to be smacked in the face with the book.

Joseph stood up, trying to form a physical barrier between them. Still laughing, he cleared his throat while Roger touched the spot on his cheek where the book had hit him tenderly, and George sat with his arms crossed over his chest, seething, blonde eyebrows pointed angrily over blue eyes.

“George,” Joseph said breathlessly, “Please don't throw things at Roger. Roger, please stop making a fool out of George.” 

“He was not making a fool out of me,” Spat George, his voice getting unreasonably high, “He was just being a-!”

“I just want to pet the dog!”

“IT’S A FANTASY ADVENTURE, WHY DO YOU WANT TO PET THE DOG?!”

“Guys!” James cried, cutting George off, and threw his hands up into the air, “Guys, please. How about we just take a break.” The other three nodded, and Joseph slowly sat down, still wary of any throwable objects in George’s reach.

Roger peeled the wrapper off of another cupcake. “Sounds fine to me.” James and Joseph let out a collective sigh as Roger and George continued eating their cupcakes, glaring at each other from across the table. After a long, tense, silence, Joseph spoke up.

“So how have things been going for you, James?” He asked, deciding it best not to talk to the others until they’d finished their cupcakes. Before James could reply, Joseph looked to Roger, cringing. “You’ve got frosting all over your face…”

“Okay.” Roger gave him an inattentive nod.

James smiled, shaking his head before leaning back in his seat. “I can’t complain. Work has been… uneventful. As has… everything else.” George perked up.

“What is it you do again? Ask people about their feelings?” He asked sarcastically, brushing blonde curls of hair out of his face.

“I’m a psychiatrist,” James replied through gritted teeth. 

“Right. Yeah. That,” George replied, more interested in his cupcake.

After a moment of silence, Roger hurriedly wiped his face with his sleeve, much to the chagrin of everyone else. “And how’s John?” He asked brightly, with a smarmy grin. George tossed him a napkin with a disgusted look. 

Joseph smirked. “Yeah, how is Mr. Dickinson?” James felt his face grow warm and he scowled at the two smirking men.

“I don’t know. How would I know?” He muttered hotly. James fingered the rim of his now empty coffee mug, his eyes downcast and staring at his lap. Roger swallowed the last of his cupcake and rested his chin in his hand. 

“You know you could… talk to him,” Roger mused, “I know for certain he doesn’t… hate you.” He said with a shrug. James looked up at him flatly, a dull look in his eyes.

“Oh, he doesn’t hate me. I must be the luckiest man alive, Roger,” He drawled. Roger scowled, folding his arms over his chest and looked at the far wall.

“I was just saying…” He pouted. James sighed.

“Yes, yes I know.” The entire group went silent, before George spoke up in a small voice.

“I think Rodge had a point,” He mused, noting the shocked look Roger gave him at the nickname, “You should talk to him. At the very least it couldn’t hurt.” 

James shook his head. “It could hurt. I could say something stupid.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. George shrugged.

“Better say something stupid than stare at him from across the room all the time like…” He paused, “Like a creep.” The other two nodded, hiding smirks behind their hands. James’ cheeks went red and he bitterly reached for a cupcake. He turned it around in his fingers.

“I am not a creep, George.”

“If you don’t talk to him, nothing’s ever gonna happen,” Roger said quietly. James shrugged.

“Good,” he spat.

“He’ll get a boyfriend…” 

James’ face went redder and he took an angry bite of his cupcake, glaring at each man at the table who, in turn, looked away sheepishly. Roger leaned back in his chair, tipping it backwards and stuck his tongue out at the lizard in his pocket. Joseph sighed, before giving James a stern look.

“Either you talk to him, James, or spend the rest of your life wishing that you had,” He said flatly. “Just because he’s the only one who’s too stupid to understand how you feel about him, doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

“Don’t call him stupid!” James spat, slamming his cupcake down on the table. Roger froze and Joseph instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder. James’ expression softened and he looked down at his lap. “Sorry,” he mumbled. The room was filled with an awkward silence, until George got up, stretched, and asked, “Coffee?” James and Joseph nodded, handing him their mugs, and the group silently, unanimously agreed that Roger did not need any more caffeine. Going behind the counter, George went to the coffee machine and set about refilling their mugs.

“How have the rest of you been?” He called over his shoulder. Joseph shrugged. Roger sat up a bit straighter in his seat, careful not to jostle the lizard in his pocket. 

“I met another John last night,” He chirped, tapping his fingers excitedly against his chair. James smiled. Joseph gave a begrudging laugh.

“Witherspoon? The guy who owns the church?” James asked quietly, grinning at Roger’s newfound excitement. Roger nodded quickly, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up awkwardly. 

“He’s very…” Roger paused, before meeting James’ eyes and looking away sheepishly. “Nice.”

Joseph immediately pointed at Roger, slamming his fist on the table for extra emphasis. Roger looked at him with an expression akin to a deer about to be run over by a truck.

“You like him!” He boomed, causing Roger to instinctively raise his hands to protect Hector, who seemed entirely unbothered by the whole ordeal. Roger glared at Joseph from across the table defensively, as George returned to the table, setting down mugs of coffee in front of them.

“I most certainly do not!” He exclaimed, sounding a bit more offended than he actually was. He tapped his hands against his thighs nervously. The other three men just stared at him with smug grins until his offence was melted away and replaced with frustration. His face fell into a miserable scowl. “Whatever,” He mumbled. 

“Wow,” George chirped, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his smirk. “I can’t believe Roger Sherman has caught feelings.” The other two smiled their agreement as Roger huffed, taking Hector out of his pocket to have a reason to avoid eye contact.

“I like plenty of people, George,” He muttered, taking Hector’s small lizard hands in his own. Joseph snorted.

“Name three.”

Roger looked up at him with a defiant scowl. “Well-” He paused, before brightening with raised eyebrows, “Richard! He’s… nice. Handsome.” The other three smiled.  
“Okay, Rodge, that’s one,” Joseph smirked. Roger huffed and went silent for a while. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. He looked at Hector, perhaps wanting to ask him what to say. After a full minute, he groaned and threw his hands up in the air lazily.

“Fine. Whatever you’re trying to prove, you’ve proved it.” The other three grinned.

“So you like him?” George prodded. Roger rolled his eyes, giving a tired shrug.

“Sure, I guess. But it doesn’t matter. He’s kinda..” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek, “Straight.” 

James blinked. George looked at him with his mouth open. “Roger…” James started quietly, “You don’t actually believe that, right?” Roger’s eyes narrowed. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He huffed, watching Hector curiously move across the table. 

“You wouldn’t,” Joseph mused, “Because your social skills are… nonexistent.” George and James gave small nods of agreement. “Roger, he is the gayest straight person I have ever met.” 

Roger scowled. “It’s not nice to assume things about people.” 

“But-” George raised a finger in the air, “You’d be happy if he did, in fact, turn out to be gay?”

Roger felt his face grow hot and scooped Hector up off of the table. He looked at the faces around him, the familiar smug smirks only making him feel more embarrassed. He sighed, resting his head on the table.

“Ugh. Fine! I like him! He’s… pretty or whatever. Happy now?” 

Roger hadn’t expected the applause that would follow his confession. As his friends grinned and patted him on the back, he groaned and pressed his face into his hands. 

“I can’t believe it,” James said quietly, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye, “Roger Sherman has feelings!” 

“We’re all so proud of you!” George said with a smile, handing him another cupcake as recompense for his troubles. 

Roger sat up, accepting the cupcake grumpily. “You are, without any doubt, the worst friends I’ve ever had.” He shoved half of it in his mouth.

Joseph shrugged. “Yes, but we’re still your friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that Hector The Lizard Sherman is my favorite 1776 character?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the life of Philadelphia's overworked civil servants.

Thomson awoke with a start to the feeling of something wet on his cheek. He let out a startled gasp, reeling backward in his chair, causing it to roll back away from his desk. Dazed, he pressed a hand to his cheek, blinking heavily. He noticed an imprint on the stack of paperwork where his head must have been, ink smudged across it. He gave a dull groan and took his glasses off of his face, rubbing the red marks they left on his nose. He lazily looked them over to make sure he hadn’t bent them and put them down on his desk with a sigh.   
  
Picking up the sheets on his desk, he cringed, noticing he’d drooled on them in his sleep, and gracefully deposited them in the trash. Squinting his eyes against the fluorescent overhead lights, he yawned into his hand, pausing to check the time on his watch. His eyebrows raised as he realized he’d been asleep for little over an hour. That’d make five hours of sleep in the last three days. Gazing drearily over his desk, his eyes caught on something he didn’t remember being there before he fell asleep. A pink sticky note, stuck to one of the various yellow notepads strewn across his desk.   
  
He grimaced. That meant one of the interns had witnessed him asleep at his desk, drooling over his paperwork. No doubt he’d be hearing about it for weeks. With a sore groan, he reached across the desk for the note, sliding his glasses onto his nose with his other hand. He blinked a few times as he held the note up to his face.   
  
  
_Mrs. Abigail Smith requests a meeting with Mr. Hancock at his nearest possible convenience. She also requests that you inform him that the Philadelphia Journal has full intentions of releasing these matters to the public and to inform him that if he has any complaints, he can settle them in court._   
  
  
“Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit!”

 

Thomson stuffed the note into his pocket, whipping off his glasses to rub bloodshot eyes. Ignoring the screaming pain in his back from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, Thomson shot up from his chair, causing it to roll back suddenly and smack against the far wall. His head aching and his mind racing, he paced down the hall to Hancock’s office, breaking into a jog halfway. He moved to knock on the door before pausing, his hand returning to his side as he noticed his reflection in a mirror on the wall. Staring at himself, he inwardly cringed at how miserable he looked, mussed up hair, rumpled clothes and loosened tie. He halfheartedly combed through his hair with his fingers, rebuttoning his tailored waistcoat.   
  
All in the name of professionalism, honestly.   
  
He swallowed and knocked on the door. He was met with momentary silence until a gruff voice shouted for him to come in. Charles rested his hand on the doorknob, questioning the unfamiliar trepidation that burned in his stomach. He eased the door open. He saw his boss, in nearly as miserable a state as he looked himself. Tie foregone and discarded on the floor, Hancock sat with his head in his hands, not displaying any visible reaction to Charles’ entrance.   
  
“Sir,” Charles said sternly, but quietly, unsure if this was the best time to be bothering him.   
  
“It’s her again, isn’t it?”   
  
Charles nodded, then realizing Hancock wasn’t actually looking at him, “Yessir.” Hancock didn’t respond, just rubbed his face with his hands. Thomson swallowed, the painful, dryness of his throat reminding him of how dehydrated he was. Silence passed and Thomson fingered the note in his pocket.   
  
“Sir?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly. John slammed the desk with his fist, causing Charles to flinch.   
  
“It’s one in the goddamn morning, Charlie, drop the formalities.”

 

Hancock leaned back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. When Charles didn’t speak, he sighed, “Christ, Charlie. We are so fucking screwed.”  
  
Charles’ eyes narrowed, and he took off his glasses with a huff, taking a piece of cloth from his pocket and wiping the lenses clean. “It’s your fault, you know,” he muttered, his attention fixed on his glasses. Hancock removed his hands from his face silently.   
  
“‘Drop the formalities’,” he growled, “did not mean ‘make your boss feel more like an idiot than he already does.'” A smirk twinged on Charles’ lips. John folded his arms over his chest, giving Charles a pointed glare.   
  
“I was just being honest, Mr. Hancock, sir.”   
  
Hancock grinned, leaning heavily on the arm of his chair and calmly rolling back and forth. “Charlie, I could fire and blacklist you from any civil service positions in the country in the time it would take for you to fetch me a cup of coffee.”   
  
“Go ahead,” Charles challenged, still focused on his glasses, “If you think you could possibly manage without me.” Charles looked up, meeting Hancock’s eyes in a defiant gaze. The two locked eyes with stern expressions until John, inevitably, broke character and burst into laughter.   
  
“No, I doubt that I could,” he smiled. He waved offhandedly to the chairs across from his desk. “Please, Charlie, make yourself comfortable.” Charles smiled and walked slowly over to the chairs John had indicated, then decided against it, seating himself on Hancock’s desk. Hancock smirked, placing a hand on Thomson’s thigh. Charles’ gently slid his glasses onto his nose, blinking his dark eyes at John’s smiling face. Charles eventually couldn’t help himself and smiled back, moving a hand to rest on John’s shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak but instead yawned, his eyes falling closed. John gave him a pitying look.   
  
“Long day?” He asked in a quiet voice. Charles simply nodded. Hancock frowned. “How long?” Charles slowly blinked his eyes open, squinting down at his watch.   
  
“Well…” He mumbled drowsily, “If we subtract the hour I fell asleep at my desk,” This elicited a snort from John, “Then I’d say about forty-nine hours.”   
  
John scowled and gave Charles’ thigh a light squeeze. “Damn it, Charlie. Why the hell do you insist on working yourself so hard?” He asked, in a quiet, but stern voice. Charles gave him a pointed look, a small smile twinging on his lips.   
  
“Maybe if you weren’t always getting yourself into such shit, John…”   
  
“Quiet.”   
  
“Ha.”

 

The two were silent for a while, Hancock’s thumb gently rubbing Thomson’s thigh, until Hancock gave an exasperated sigh.  
  
“So what did she have to say?” He asked in a defeated voice. For a moment, Charles didn’t understand, until he blinked, and pulled the crumpled note from his pocket, the graphite lettering smudged by his fidgeting with it. He cleared his throat dramatically, much to John’s chagrin.   
  
“She requests a meeting with you- at your convenience-”   
  
“How considerate,” Hancock muttered.   
  
“She also wishes to inform you,” Thomson continued, “That she and her paper have full intentions of making these matters public,”   
  
“Fuck me.”   
  
“-And if you have any issues, you can address them in court.”   
  
Hancock groaned, removing his hand from Charles’ thigh, (Charles hid his disappointment) and rested his head in his arms. Charles’ eyebrows raised, his chest wracked with a rare sort of pity and placed a calming hand in John’s hair.   
  
“Why Charlie? What did I do to deserve this?” He groaned pathetically. Thomson blinked.   
  
“You committed tax fraud…”Thomson replied with ludicrous amazement. 

Hancock sat up stiffly, throwing his hands in the air. “Accidentally!”   
  
Thomson’s eyes widened, an uncomfortable smile on his face. “John, how in hell do you…” he trailed off, realizing he’d had this conversation before, and shook his head. “Well…” he tried, “Perhaps you can claim insanity. Nay, stupidity.”   
  
Hancock shrugged with the air of a defeated man. “Perhaps.” Charles’ heart ached to see him like this, and his face filled with pity. He gently rested his hand on Hancock’s far shoulder and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to the man’s temple. John didn’t respond, but leaned slightly towards Charles, bringing his hand up to rest on Thomson’s smaller one.   
  
“Cheer up, John,” Thomson comforted, “I’ll schedule a lunch meeting with Abigail. Perhaps we can work something out.” John offered a small smile in silent thanks.   
  
“You do too much for me, Charles.”   


Thomson smiled. “Nonsense. It’s why I’m here.” John gently lifted Charles’ hand to his lips and kissed it, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looked up to meet Charles’ tired eyes and frowned.

 

“You look dead on your feet, Charlie.”

 “I am.”   
  
“You need to go home,” Said John, giving Charles a firm look.   
  
“As do you.”   
  
Their eyes met in serious stares until Hancock smiled, standing up slowly from his chair and wrapped an arm around Thomson, gently nudging him off of the desk. On the floor, Charles stood a half foot higher than John and silently lamented how much less intimidating John looked when they were standing together. He pressed a kiss to John’s head.   


“Let’s go home, Charlie,” he murmured into Thomson’s neck. Charles shivered, but slowly shook his head.   
  
“Someone will see.”   
  
“It’s one in the morning, Charles. No one’s gonna see.”   
  
Thomson looked up, heavy eyebrows raised over nervous eyes. “You never know. People talk.” He fidgeted nervously with his fingers.   
  
“What, Charlie?” Hancock sneered, “Do you think I’m going to fire you for sleeping with your boss?”   
  
Thomson stared up at him defiantly, the joke going a mile over his head. “I didn’t mean because you’re my boss, John! I meant…” He trailed off, feeling somewhat nauseous and leaned against John’s desk.  Hancock’s face fell.   
  
“Charlie…” He muttered, unsure of how to address the elephant in the room, “Men share cabs all the time. No one will think anything of it.”   
  
Thomson didn’t look at him, just folded his arms over his chest, nervously rubbing his bicep with his hand. “And what if they do?” John sighed, and placed his hands on Thomson’s hips, pulling him close. Thomson gave a small yelp of surprise but didn’t struggle as John pressed a kiss to his jaw.   
  
“Then I will beat them to death with my bare hands, Charles.”   
  
Thomson gave an anxious laugh at that, but the tension in his shoulders slowly melted in John’s embrace. After a few moments of tender silence, John leaned in to Charles’ ear. “I will never let anybody hurt you, Charlie,” he whispered, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to Charles’ neck. Charles smiled at the warmth that filled his body and rested his hands on John’s back. After a moment, he felt the blood rush to his head and his legs buckle underneath him and almost fell, until he felt John’s strong arms around his torso.   
  
“You really are dead on your feet, idiot,” John scoffed, carefully helping Charles up. “We’re going home.” Charles didn’t argue this time, just nodded into John’s shoulder with closed eyes.

 

By the time he opened them, he was, much to his surprise, in a taxi, still nuzzled into John’s shoulder. Realizing John must have carried him, Charles blushed, a smile forcing itself onto his face. He sighed at the comforting feeling of John’s hand gently rubbing his back and wrapped his arms tighter around John’s chest. “John?” He murmured.  
  
“Sleep, Charlie.”  
  
“But John-”   
  
Hancock sighed. “Yes, Charles?”  
  
Thomson let his eyes fall shut again, inching himself closer to John, and tilting his head upwards. John leaned his ear towards Charles’ lips.  
  
“I love you, John,” Charles whispered sleepily. Hancock smiled, snaking his arm around Charles’ torso and pulling him close. He turned his head slightly, pressing his lips to Charles’ closing his eyes as he felt Charles smile against him.  
  
“I love you too, Charles, darling. Now sleep.”   
  
Charles nodded, mumbling a sleepy “Yessir” into John’s chest.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed!!


	7. Chapter 7

John Adams awoke with a grimace, to bright sunlight filtering through the thin curtains, beaming directly into his eyes. He felt uncomfortably warm, kicking the sheets off of his legs as he felt sweat sticking his shirt to his back. He felt the weight of Thomas’s arm pressed against his stomach and he was careful not to move, at risk of disturbing the man sleeping beside him. Against his better judgement, he blinked his eyes open further, turning his head to the clock on the wall. Squinting, he groaned quietly as the clock told him it was nearly eight-thirty. The comfort of his bed an inescapable trap, he turned to his other side and smiled at the still-sleeping face of Thomas resting on his shoulder. With his hand (the one that wasn’t pinned down by Thomas’s body) he brushed a ginger lock of hair out of Thomas’s eyes and gently cupped his freckled cheek in his hand. He smiled as Thomas stirred, and gently stroked his cheek with his thumb. Thomas’s nose twitched and John moved to press a kiss into his hair. One tired eye peeked open, under furrowed ginger eyebrows. John smiled.  
  
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he cooed, slowly stroking Jefferson’s messy hair. Thomas just scowled and nuzzled into John’s side, as if he were allergic to the sunlight peeking through the curtains. John bit back soft laughter and gently moved his hand down Thomas’s head, perhaps trying to bother him into waking up. He lightly tickled Thomas’s neck with his fingertips, causing him to squirm and eventually giggle into John’s chest. “Come on, Thomas,” John smirked, “It’s time to get up.” Thomas groaned a quiet “No…” but reluctantly squirmed out from under the blankets, pushing himself up on his arms with a yawn. He drowsily pushed his hair from his face.   
  
“There’s my beautiful boy,” John smiled. He sat up and pressed a clumsy kiss to Thomas’s lips. Thomas made a disgusted face and pushed him back down on the bed.  
  
“Morning breath,” He spat. John rolled his eyes.  
  
“And there’s Thomas,” he drawled, scowling up at the tall ginger above him. Thomas stared down at him, before smirking and leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. John pushed himself up on his elbows, looking up at Thomas fondly, and gave a loud yawn. He blinked a few times into the bright sunlight, before sighing, and rubbing his temple with his fingertips. “Time to get up, Thomas,” he mumbled, eliciting a groan of objection from the ginger.  
  
“Must we?” he asked pitifully, gently touching John’s chest with his fingertips, hoping to coax him into staying in bed a bit longer. John’s gaze wandered to Thomas’s lightly freckled hands and gave a growling purr of contentment, until he realized what Thomas was doing and scowled up at him, gently but firmly pushing his hands off.   
  
“Yes!” He said sternly, forcing himself up. Dark hair spilled down his shoulders, much to Thomas’s fascination. Thomas placed a hand on John’s neck, gently trailing his fingers through the thick locks.   
  
“You’re so beautiful with your hair down,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to John’s neck. John closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, pressing his cheek to Thomas’s head. Thomas’s arms wrapped around John’s torso and John almost let himself fall into a state of complacency at the mercy of Thomas’s lips, but instead he opened his eyes with a smirk and pushed Thomas off of him.  
  
“Flattery will get you nowhere, lovely.”   
  
Thomas frowned, and John shrugged with a fond smile.  
  
“Okay,” he elaborated, “It will get you somewhere. But not out of brunch.” He patted Thomas’s thigh. “Up!” Thomas groaned but begrudgingly swung his legs over the side of the bed. By the time he’d worked up the energy to stand up, John had already gotten dressed and was now throwing a pair of pants in Thomas’s direction. Thomas simply blinked at the pants in his hand as if they were some kind of alien object, and then looked at his husband with a sort of fatigued bemusement.  
  
“Please, darling, tell me where you get your energy this early in the morning,” he yawned. John just blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  
  
“Early? Tom, it’s almost nine, you’re just lazy.” He pointed at the pants in Thomas’s hand. “Come on! Hurry up.” Thomas scowled, before sitting down to put on his pants.   
  
“I love you, Mr. A, but you’re honestly insufferable.” John didn’t look at him, he was too busy with his head in the closet, holding up a blue flannel in one hand and a red one in the other. After a moment of scrutiny, he returned the red flannel to the closet, and threw the other one over his shoulder. Thomas watched it land in his lap, unsure of John’s decision, but decidedly too lazy to wear something else.  
  
“Well, Thomas,” John said suddenly, moving to the bathroom, “You’ve dealt with my insufferability for five years, one brunch won’t kill you, I’m sure.” If he had more to say, it was masked under the sound of his toothbrush, and Thomas gave a quiet chuckle as he buttoned his shirt up over his chest. By the time he was dressed, he fell back onto the bed, partially considering going back to sleep. It wasn’t that he minded brunch, and he enjoyed getting to see Abigail and Martha, but he wished to heaven it could be later in the day. He was entirely useless before noon, and he’d accepted that. The rest of the world simply didn’t.  
  
He was roused from his near-sleep state by John, who stood over him, shaking his shoulders with one hand, a hairbrush in the other.   
  
“Come on, Tom,” he said impatiently, “Sit up.” As Thomas pushed himself up once more with a grunt, John kneeled behind him, his hand still resting on Thomas’s shoulder. The two sat in silence, Thomas closing his eyes as John methodically brushed his hair, tying the loose ginger locks up with an elastic hair tie. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pressed a kiss to the back of Thomas’s head. With a squeeze to Thomas’s shoulder, he hopped out of bed, shrugging on a cardigan that was draped over the back of a chair. As he was fastening the buttons over his chest, he felt Thomas’s arms around him and smiled, leaning in to Thomas’s lips on his neck.  
  
“Thank you, John,” Thomas murmured into his ear, “for taking such good care of me.” John just smirked with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction, resting his hands on top of Thomas’s.  
  
“Well someone has to, no?” Thomas nodded, pressing more kisses to John’s neck. John scoffed quietly, reveling in the warmth of Thomas’s body against his. “C’mon, Tom,” he said begrudgingly, feeling Thomas release him from his embrace. “We shan’t be late,” he called, crossing the room as Thomas slowly followed, “You know how Abigail gets on me for punctuality.” Thomas grinned.   
  
“You two act like an old married couple, John,” he smiled, “she has you whipped.” John scowled at his husband, ushering him out the door.  
  
“Don’t talk about my wife like that, Tom,” he said with a smirk.   
  
Abigail paced down the aisle of tables in the small cafe, attracting confused looks from other patrons, as her wife watched on in exasperation. Abigail tugged on her tie nervously, until Martha leaned out from her seat and took her hand, pulling her out of her thoughts.  
  
“Abby. Sweetie. It’s been three minutes. Just…” She paused, “Relax.” Abigail sat down with a sigh, rhythmically tapping her fingers against the tablecloth. Martha rubbed her eyes tiredly. Noticing Abigail’s worried expression, she wrapped an arm around her waist. “You know how Thomas is,” She continued, trying to assuage her wife’s worries. Abigail sighed.   
  
“Yes, I know how Thomas is,” she conceded. Martha smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Abigail’s cheek. She perked up as she heard John’s familiar voice at the door, and shot up from her seat, much to Martha’s chagrin. John noticed, and walked quickly over, before pulling her into a hug as Thomas did the same with Martha. Abigail quickly pressed a kiss to John’s cheek, before pushing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. “It’s lovely to see you, John,” she said in a firm tone of voice. John nodded succinctly.   
  
“I’ve missed you greatly, my dearest friend,” he responded in all seriousness. The two smirked at groans from Thomas and Martha.  
  
“Enough with the family reunion, you saw each other a week ago,” Thomas said, a smile lighting up his face. John and Abigail sat down, next to their respective partners, still smirking at one another from across the table. John clumsily reached for Thomas’s hand under the table, but, under the gaze of a nearby waiter, jerked it away on instinct. Thomas didn’t react to this, or if he did, his face didn’t show it as he continued to peruse his menu. By the time their waiter had arrived, Thomas still had no idea what he wanted to eat, and gently nudged John to chose for him. John took his glasses out of their case and perched them on the end of his nose as he read the menu.  
  
“I’ll have a bloody mary, thank you, and he’ll have…” He perused the list of drinks in search of a way to annoy Thomas, “A screwdriver,” Abigail and Martha gave him a slightly shocked look and he continued, with a smirk, “Hold the vodka.” Thomas gave him a withering look and Martha snorted, hiding her face behind her hand. Soon enough, the waiter returned with their drinks and Thomas glumly sipped at his orange juice. The two couples ate, conversations interspersed with Abigail reminding John not to talk with his mouth full, John quietly berating Abigail for her posture, and Thomas and Martha quietly commenting to each other wondering why they bothered to marry, since their partners were basically already married to each other. After about half an hour, Abigail politely asked her wife if she could go and get her another drink. She gave a pointed look to John, who asked Thomas the same. When the two left, John gave Abigail a confused look. She looked around, to make sure no one was near, and her face was immediately overcast with seriousness.  
  
“You know how they get, they’ll be talking for half and hour, so we’ll have time to discuss things,” she said in a hushed tone. John’s confused look only became more pronounced, and he instinctively drew himself up, resting his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands.  
  
“Abigail…” he started. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” She nodded raptly, before leaning over and digging through her bag for a folder as John watched on in bemused silence.  
  
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She slapped a manilla folder down onto the table in front of John. “I can’t say the same for our dear friend, Mr. Hancock, though.” John’s eyes widened as he picked up the folder, his fingers fumbling with the clasp.   
  
“Abigail,” he said nervously, “What are you getting yourself into?” He scowled, “And more importantly,” he pulled the documents loose from the folder, “What are you getting me into?!” Abigail leaned back in her chair, eyeing John distantly.

 

“Read them,” she commanded quietly and John readjusted his glasses. He gazed over the papers, deciding there was too much to do a thorough reading; the dates listed had dated back for at least five years. IRS reports among other things sat in front of him. After a full five minutes he placed the papers down in front of him.

 

     “Wow.”

 

     “Yeah.” John leaned back, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

 

“Fraudulent tax evasion? Seriously?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Hancock… doesn’t seem the type.” Abigail’s eyes narrowed.

 

  “Well it's all right there, isn’t it, John?”

 

  John shrugged. “Well, what are you planning to do with this? You can’t put it in the paper, Abby…”

 

  Abigail sat up straight in her seat. “Why, John? He’s the mayor, the people have a right to know,” she said sternly, still careful not to raise her voice. She looked for a moment over to Martha and Thomas, who were still chatting idly by the bar. “Anyway, it’s my paper. I decide what goes in it.”

 

“Abigail,” John stumbled, sounding more and more distressed, “He is our friend! We can’t do this to him!” Abigail glared at him, frustrated.  
  
“It doesn’t matter if he’s our friend,” she hissed, “It’s my duty to inform the people of this, is it not?” John didn’t respond, just looked down at the table. Abigail sighed. “Is it not, John? Tell me it’s not. I don’t want to have to do this.”  
  
“It is,” John whispered. The two sat in grim silence for a moment, before John looked up again. “Anyway, where do I fit into this?” Abigail perked up, raising a finger pointedly.  
  
“I’m glad you brought that up, John. I believe he fully intends on taking me to court over this and if that happens-”  
  
“You need me to act as your attorney?” John asked.  
  
“Precisely.”   
  
John rubbed his eyes. “You don’t even know if this is going to court, why ask me now?”  
  
“To make sure he doesn’t ask you first.”   
  
John smiled grimly. “I don’t know if I can do this, Abigail. He- he was the best man at my wedding.” John swallowed, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. “I can’t put my friend in prison, Abigail.” Abigail shook her head.  
  
“It won’t come to that, I swear.”  
  
“Then what are you hoping for?”  
  
Abigail shrugged. “What I’m hoping for, John, is that this is all a big misunderstanding. Which is why I’ve scheduled a meeting with Mr. Hancock this week. And if it isn’t… impeachment.” John nodded slowly. “Of course, I was planning he’d hire the best lawyer in the city, so I made sure to ask you first.”  
  
John smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Abigail.” Abigail gave him a confused look, then realized what he meant and laughed.  
  
“No, John, I meant Mr. Dickinson. I knew that if you were up against him you wouldn’t give up anything.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Abigail, still giggling, reached for his hand across the table. “I’m sorry John. You’re a great lawyer.” John just pouted. Abigail’s face returned to her previous seriousness. “So will you do it, John?”   
  
“I dunno, why don’t you ask Mr. Dickinson?”   
  
Abigail gave him a withering look. “Because I trust you more than anything, you know that.” John sighed.   
  
“Fine, fine. And we’d best shut up now because here come our spouses.” John smiled up at Thomas, who had never actually gotten him a drink, and firmly grasped his hand in his own as he sat down.   
  
“So, what did you guys talk about?” Martha asked. Abigail shrugged.   
  
“Nothing much, just work.”  
  
  
  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

“Good evening, Doctor Hall.”

Lyman jolted in his seat with a sharp intake of breath, his book falling from his hands to slap shut on the floor. He heard a quiet laugh behind him, and suddenly placed the familiar deep voice with the man it belonged to. He stood up slowly, picking up his book from the floor, and turned around with a smile. His book clutched firmly in his hand, he beamed down at the smiling face of Mr. Edward Rutledge.

“Good evening yourself, Mr. Rutledge.” Edward carefully reached out for his hand and took it with a gentle squeeze. He gently, perhaps subconsciously, rubbed his thumb across Lyman’s knuckles, his eyes fixated on Lyman’s hand.

“It’s lovely to see you here again,” he said quietly, not looking up. Lyman looked away bashfully, his face going slightly red.

“I was about to say precisely the same.” He looked down at Edward who met his eyes and, with a start, realizing he was still clutching Lyman’s hand, let go. Lyman smiled awkwardly, just as much embarrassed as Edward was, and scratched the back of his head. Edward cleared his throat, nervously rocking back and forth on his toes.

“So,” he started, still not making eye contact. He glanced at the book in Lyman’s hand. “What are you reading?”

Lyman blinked, and looked down at the book in his hand. “Edmund Burke,” he mumbled, “About the French Revolution… and stuff.” Edward nodded, having very little knowledge of the subject.

“Sounds interesting.”

Lyman grimaced. “It’s actually terrible. I don’t know why I’m still reading it.” Edward laughed suddenly, and Lyman’s face only went redder. Lyman shoved the book into his back pocket hurriedly and Edward put a hand on his bicep, a warm smile lighting up his face. Lyman looked down at Edward’s hand and was about to speak when he was cut off by a voice from the back of the room.

“Get a room, assholes.”

Edward cringed, sighed, and took his hand away from Lyman’s arm. He turned around to face an elderly man, glaring at the two of them and drinking… something from a paper bag. Edward folded his arms over his chest, a stern expression covering his face.

“Mr. Hopkins, just because you have nothing but vodka to keep you company doesn’t mean you have to ruin the fun for everyone else.” The emphasis on ‘fun’ made Lyman blush. Hopkins raised an eyebrow. “And anyway, I’m not sure you should be drinking that stuff here. It’s a church, ain’t it?” Hopkins glared at him, and muttered something indecipherable before taking another swig of his vodka. Edward turned back to Lyman with a strained smile.

“Now then, Doctor Hall, I believe-“

“You don’t have to call me that,” Lyman interrupted. Edward blinked, his lips parting slightly and Lyman winced. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I just…” He trailed off. Edward gave a discerning smile.

“Well then, what would you prefer I call you?”

“Whatever you wish,” he offered, though he realized he should have just asked to be called by his name. Edward was silent for a moment.

“Handsome?” Edward smirked, to distract from his shaking hands in his pockets. Lyman’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes going wide and Hopkins, having over heard the conversation, gave a barking laugh from the corner. Lyman felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he immediately turned around, realizing that if he continued to look into Rutledge’s eyes he was bound to say something idiotic. After a moment of quiet giggling that only served to make Lyman even more embarrassed, Edward cleared his throat and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Doct- erm, Lyman?” He fought to keep a smile off his face. Lyman turned around slowly, eye contact with Edward only making him blush again.

“Yes?” He asked shakily, his voice cracking. It was getting increasingly more difficult for Edward to not break out into a grin. He coughed.

“I apologize if that was too forward-“

“No!” Lyman gave a nervous smile, “It was just… unexpected.” Edward’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Well that simply doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. Lyman gave him a questioning look and he continued, “Looking like you do, doctor, I figured you must get called handsome rather often.” Edward couldn’t resist smiling anymore, and Lyman went back to being entirely embarrassed. They heard a disgusted groan from behind them and another request to get a room. This time it was Edward’s turn to blush. “It is very difficult to flirt with him here,” he muttered. Lyman laughed loudly, placing a hand on Edward’s shoulder.

“So we’re flirting?” He asked with a smile.

Edward looked away, unsure of how to address this new confidence. Lyman’s dark, piercing eyes gave Edward the sensation butterflies in his stomach and he straightened up, in an attempt to hide his nervousness. “If that’s what you’d like,” he drawled, “Handsome.” Lyman’s momentary confidence disappeared and a nervous smile lit his face.

“I’m sorry, Ed, I’m still not used to that,” he chuckled. Edward grinned, and was about to make a flirty comeback, when he heard his name called from across the room. He turned around to see Dickinson, waving impatiently, and gave Lyman a tired look.

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to go,” he said. Noting the way Lyman’s face fell, he felt a pang of guilt in his chest and held up a hand. “That book.” Lyman gave him a confused look. “Let me see it,” he commanded. Lyman pulled the book from his pocket and handed it to Ned, who whipped out a pen and wrote something on the inside cover. He looked it over for a moment, closed it, and gave it a kiss before pressing it back into Lyman’s hand. Lyman gave him an awkward, blushing nod as he turned away. Opening it up, he scanned the inside cover to see- he gave a small gasp- a phone number, annotated with a little heart and the words “Call me.” He slammed the book shut with a grin lighting up his face. He was immediately shaken out of his good mood by the sound of an unfamiliar, booming voice entering the room.

“WHERE IN GOD’S NAME IS THAT LITTLE RAT?” Lyman whipped around with a yelp, to see a man who looked like he could tear him in half with his bare hands scan the room with a murderous look in his eyes. He was followed closely by a smaller man who did not seem the least bit phased. Lyman instinctively backed against the wall while Dickinson approached the enraged man, in an attempt to calm him down.

“John, what’s going on? Who’s a rat?”

Oh, another John. Lyman turned to Hopkins, who didn’t seem at all phased either. “Who is that?” He asked in a quiet voice. Hopkins took a swig of his bagged vodka.

“John Hancock. Which is weird, he rarely shows up. And the guy behind him is his secretary. Lyman’s jaw dropped.

“The mayor?!” Hopkins gave a steady, inebriated nod. Lyman sighed and returned to leaning against the wall.

“Adams!” Hancock shouted, and Dickinson smiled in the way a child smiles, when they know their sibling is about to be punished. “That dirty little traitorous rat!” Dickinson pulled up a chair, turning it around to sit on it backwards, and looked up at Hancock with an excited gleam in his eyes.

“What did he do? Are you gonna kill him?” He asked, sounding much happier than he should have. Hancock fell ungracefully into a chair and Thomson sat down next to him, his eyes focused on a stack of paper on the clip board in his hands. 

“He betrayed me,” Hancock growled, and Charles rolled his eyes. Dickinson nodded. “He signed on to be Abigail Smith’s defense attorney,” he continued. Dickinson gave him a confused look. “You know,” Hancock explained, “The president of the Philadelphia Journal. The one that’s trying to have me impeached.” Dickinson leaned back, covering his mouth with his hand. Hancock glared at him. “Stop smirking.” Dickinson nodded obediently, a solemn look cast over his face. Hancock sighed. “In fact, you’re just the man I wanted to talk to.”

“Oh?”

Hancock nodded. “Seeing as Abigail already commandeered the best lawyer in Philadelphia,” Dickinson scowled at that, “And seeing as you hate him more than a normal person hates anyone,” Dickinson scowled further, “I’d like you to act as my defense.”

“Why should I? You just insulted me twice.”

“I am incredibly wealthy, John.”

Dickinson nodded raptly. “Yes, right, excellent argument. Just say the word.”

 

Meanwhile, upstairs, Roger Sherman was pacing the aisle of the church nervously, the sound of his oxfords echoing across the marble floors. He’d actually bothered to dress up, though he wasn’t quite sure why, and tugged awkwardly at the collar of his dress shirt. He continued to pace, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks and he swallowed, still unsure if this was the best idea. After ten minutes of uninterrupted pacing, his nerves overwhelmed him and he decided it would be best to just go home. He turned to leave when he heard a quiet, almost humored voice.

“Roger?” Sherman whipped around with a small gasp, going pale as he stared up into the calm eyes of Mr. Witherspoon.

“Reverend!” He chirped, then cringed. “Mr. Witherspoon,” he corrected himself, “John. Hi.” John smiled, unsure of what to make of this. Roger smiled in return, and mentally kicked himself for his awkwardness.

“What are you doing here, Roger?” John asked, not unkindly, “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with the others?” Roger swallowed, looking around nervously.

“Well that’s the thing, actually, I…” His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, “I came here to… to see…” John’s eyebrows raised and Roger continued, stammering, “I came here to see you.” John blinked.

“Do you have a problem?” He asked earnestly. Roger shook his head.

“No.” John only looked more confused.

“Confession? Something like that?” Roger scratched the back of his head, frustrated.

“No, no,” he said, wincing.

“Then what?”

Roger went silent for a moment, looking nervously into John’s confused gaze.

“Would you like to get ice cream with me?” he blurted out.

John stared at him in bemused silence before letting out a nervous chuckle. “Ice cream?” He asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“At eight o’clock at night.”

“Yes. Stop looking at me like I’ve got two heads,” Roger snapped. John just laughed, making Roger just feel more embarrassed. He folded his arms over his chest bitterly. “Fine, fine, never mind. I’ll go.” The humor left John’s face immediately and he instinctively placed a hand on Roger’s shoulder. After a moment of eye contact he pulled it away.

“No, no, I…” He paused, a smile gently appearing on his face. “I’d love to.” Roger let out a relieved sigh. “Although I must say,” John said scrutinizingly, “You’re much overdressed for ice cream.” Roger scowled, tugging at his collar in insecurity, and John smiled. “No, no,” he comforted, “I like it.” Roger’s cheeks went red and he looked at his watch.

“We should go, the ice cream shop closes in twenty minutes.” John nodded, then looked at the entrance to the basement warily. Roger gave his arm a reassuring pat. “I’m sure they won’t burn the place down while you’re gone.” John looked unconvinced. “And if they do… I’ll repay you.”

“You will?”

“Yes. In ice cream.”

“You can afford that much ice cream?”

“I will pay you back in one ice cream cone,” Roger corrected. 

John laughed. After a few moments, he seemed entirely calmed and said “You’re cute,” in a nonchalant, not-entirely-there sort of way. Roger gaped. No sooner than when he realized what he said, had John slapped his hand over his mouth. He looked at Roger with panicked eyes.

“I didn’t mean-“

“It’s okay,” He tried his best at a comforting smile.

John eyed him nervously. “We’d best go.”

By the time they’d arrived at the ice cream parlor, it was five minutes to closing and the employees begrudgingly served them. They sat outside at a park bench in silence, watching cars go by, until Roger eyed John’s ice cream cone with a glare.

“Pistachio? I guess I misjudged you.”

John paused mid-lick, to turn to Roger in mock offense. “Pistachio is good, Roger.” Roger’s eyebrows furrowed and John looked pointedly to his ice cream. “And wow, way to be original, I guess.”

Roger huffed. “Vanilla is a classic, Jonathan. It wouldn’t be if it weren’t good.” John shrugged, with a smile.

“I’m just saying.”

The two elapsed into silence. John finished off his ice cream, and pulled a tissue from his pocket to methodically wipe his hands. He let his eyes wander to Roger, who was entirely absorbed in watching the cars pass by. John opened his mouth to speak multiple times but the words wouldn't come, until,

“Roger.”

Roger shoved the rest of the ice cream cone into his mouth, wiping his face with his hand. He looked up at John expectantly. “Yeah?” John looked away, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Roger just continued to look at him. John tried to think of the words he’d had prepared for years and years but they wouldn’t come, and this was not the person John had envisioned being the first he’d tell this to. He swallowed, feeling nausea in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his shoes.

“I’m gay.”

Roger blinked, but didn’t say anything, just turned back to the road. John felt numb. “I figured,” Roger said after a long while. John whipped his head up to look at him.

“Really? Why? Why would you think that?” He asked, his voice rising. Roger waited for him to stop talking.

“Well… a lot of people figured that, John.” John’s face fell.

“Oh god.”  
Roger placed a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s okay, John, none of us are going to judge you. In fact,” he joked, “We might like you more.” John shook his head.

“I could lose my job, Roger.” Roger went quiet and John continued, “And my family…” He buried his face in his hands. Roger gently rubbed his back, with no idea what to say.

“Comforting people is not what I’m good at, but…” he shrugged, “You have a lot of friends here.” John looked up.

“Are you my friend, Roger?” He asked sincerely.

“I certainly hope so.”

John smiled and wiped his eyes. He was about to speak when he stopped, and stared at Roger’s chest in stunned silence.

“Is that a lizard in your pocket?” He asked shakily. Roger perked up, nodding, and excited gleam in his eyes.

“Yes!” He carefully pulled the lizard out of his shirt pocket and placed it on the bench between them. “His name is Hector.” John stared down at Hector warily. Hector stuck out his forked tongue, eliciting a gasp from Roger. “John!” He shouted, with no essence of volume control. “He likes you!”


	9. Chapter 9

James Wilson sat silently in a plastic folding chair, his hands folded neatly in his lap, staring up at the ceiling in silence. He scuffed the toe of his shoe back and forth across the carpet, his fingers tapping against each other rhythmically. People milled about around him, though he hardly paid any attention, going through their usual greetings and conversation. James noticed Joseph and George from across the room, engaged in a conversation that didn’t require him, and looking around the room he’d also noticed that Roger had presently disappeared. A depressed numbness weighed down on his shoulders until a strong hand smacked him between his shoulder blades, eliciting a short gasp of breath. His hands gripped his thighs in a momentary panic until he turned around, looking up into the smiling eyes of Mr. Richard Henry Lee. James’ lips parted slightly, at a loss for words. 

“Hiya, Jamie!” Richard grinned, his loud voice causing a few people to turn around in confusion. James cringed at the nickname, remembering all the times he’d politely told Richard to please not call him that. Richard’s hand still rested on James’ back, and James glanced around in discomfort. Realizing no one near him was willing to step in and weasel him out of this conversation, he mentally sighed, and gave Richard a pained smile.

“Hello, Richard,” James said quietly as Richard pulled up a chair next to him. Sitting down, in which James considered was much too close a proximity, Richard slung an arm around his shoulders cheerfully. James grimaced.

“How’ve ya been, James?” Richard chirped, the iron grip he had on James’ shoulder pulling him closer. James swallowed and gave a half-hearted shrug, in hopes of ending the conversation. Richard, characteristically, was undeterred, though his smile faded for just a moment. He gave James’ shoulder an enthusiastic pat and James offered a pathetic, cringing smile. It wasn’t that he disliked Richard, it was impossible for him to hate someone who was so… incredibly kind yet so blissfully dumb. James smirked at the thought. But Richard was an over-enthusiastic spaz, with a knack for giving James headaches. James rubbed his temple with his fingertips as Richard went on about something pertaining to the horseback riding school he worked at. James gave him the occasional encouraging nod or smile, but continued to doze off, his eyes resting naturally on the slim lawyer in the emerald bespoke suit. James let out a gentle sigh. 

Out of all people, why did he have to take to Dickinson? The man was untouchable, like he and James lived in separate universes from each other. Sure they spoke, hell John might have even called James a friend once or twice. But James could still feel the insurmountable wall between them, giving him an indescribable pain that often times kept him from sleeping. There was also the pain of refusing to take off his binder before going to sleep each night, but that was more from a stubborn sense of pride than anything else. As the thought crossed his mind, he instinctively readjusted it, cringing at his own hyper-awareness of his body. Richard hadn’t seemed to notice though, and the thought was somewhat comforting. As he looked back up into the center of the room, for a fleeting second Dickinson’s eyes met his and James froze. John hadn’t noticed though and continued talking to Hancock about something James couldn’t make out. The momentary glance had made James far more anxious than it should have, and the feeling of ice coursing through his chest left his fingers trembling. He would have continued to stare numbly at nothing at all if not for the feeling of Richard’s finger poking his cheek.

“Jamie. You awake?” 

James blinked, his anxiety giving way to nervous frustration. “I’ve told you not to call me that!” He snapped. Richard jolted slightly in his seat, startled by the sudden outburst, especially coming from James, but then he looked down at his shoes sheepishly, taking his arm off of James’ shoulder in an act of apology. James immediately felt guilty, knowing Richard hadn’t meant any harm by it. 

“I’m sorry, James. I forgot again,” he said sheepishly. James gave him an awkward pat on the back, brightening him up immediately.

“No, it’s alright. I didn’t mean to yell.” Richard gave him a kind smile and opened his mouth to speak when he was cut off by a shrill voice from the stairs. Everyone in the room gave a simultaneous groan at the arrival of Mr. Adams, who either hadn’t noticed everyone’s disdain or simply didn’t care. James speculated the latter. 

“Abigail! Where is she?” He called, marching into the room. “I need to speak to her-” Hancock slowly rose out of his seat and met Adams’ eyes, causing Adams to stop cold in his tracks, Hancock perhaps telepathically describing to him, in great detail, how he was going to bodily maim him. 

“-Oh shit.” Adams swallowed, taking a step back. James smirked, noting that even Mr. Adams understood his limits. 

“‘Oh shit’ is correct, John,” Hancock said calmly, giving a shared anxiety to everyone in the room. “I’m gonna give you ten seconds, Mr. Adams,” The blood drained from Adams’ face as he turned on his heel and sped up the stairs, not giving Hancock the time to finish. Hancock looked at his watch, almost comically, for a full ten seconds before charging after him. After he left, everyone erupted into nervous laughter. Richard, looking uncharacteristically worried, stood up from his seat, giving James a reaffirming pat on the back, before following the two John’s at a brisk jog. 

James smiled as he watched him go, marveling at his near infinite capacity for kindness. James rested his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, watching his friends and acquaintances mill about. He couldn’t manage to find Dickinson, though perhaps that was for the best, he thought, deciding that he’d rather die than be caught staring. James had almost managed to doze off, when the all too familiar voice of Mr. Dickinson appeared behind him, nearly causing him to jump from his chair.

“Good evening, James,” John said in a calm tone, as Wilson reeled from his sudden appearance. James’ mouth went dry and for some reason, his brain couldn’t comprehend what to say, as if his body had suddenly gone into automatic override.

“Hello, John,” he stammered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sides of his chair. A smirk overtook John’s face, though, James realized, all of his smiles looked like smirks. Somehow, John hadn’t seemed to notice James’ nervousness and calmly ran a hand through his hair, the soft curls springing from his fingers. John’s calm demeanor had effected James as well, and James felt the tension leave his shoulders as he softly watched the way John’s hair moved through his fingers. 

“That was quite the spectacle, hm, James?” John smiled, in an attempt to hide his mirth at the thought of Adams getting, what he believed, was his comeuppance. “I do wonder what Mr. Hancock will do once he gets his hands on him…” James didn’t respond, still entirely absorbed in watching John’s hair, reveling slightly in how it bounced as he spoke. His eyes trailed down to John’s lips, soft and alluring, yet always pulled into that familiar smirk, even when he spoke. James made sure not to look into John’s eyes, knowing full well that if he did he’d be made defenseless. 

John raised his delicate eyebrows at James’ silence. “James…?” 

James startled, and shook himself back into the present, eliciting a chuckle from John. James blushed and John gave him a kind smile, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Instead of the usual cold awe and nervousness James felt around John, John’s touch seemed to emanate warmth throughout his body and he smiled, just barely leaning into John’s presence. In a smooth motion, John gently slipped his hand from James’ shoulder. He looked around the room slowly, placing his hand on his stomach.

“James,” James felt butterflies in his stomach every time his name left John’s lips, “I am completely famished. I had intended to invite Neddie out to dinner, but,” He glanced over to the dimly lit corner, where Edward and Lyman were tucked away, talking to each other warmly, their hands barely grazing one another. John shrugged. “He seemed entirely taken with someone else at the moment.” James gave a soft laugh and John continued. “I was hoping... You wouldn’t be opposed to coming to dinner with me?” 

James’ stomach felt like both ice and butterflies at the same time, giving him a terrible, conflicting sense of nausea. John blinked, expecting an answer, and all James could do was nod numbly. John smiled warmly and stood up from his seat, stretching his arms lazily above his head. James stood up on shaking nervous legs and tried to retain his composure. He numbly followed John’s lead upstairs, his brain flooding with thoughts and disbelief that John Dickinson was asking him out to dinner. His head swam with thoughts until he suddenly found himself in the passenger seat of John’s car, his fingers gripping the leather upholstery.

“There’s a lovely Italian place that just opened recently,” John said quietly, though James was more focused on how his hands looked as they gripped the steering wheel. “How does that sound?” John turned his head to look at James. “James?” James blinked and nodded, tearing his eyes away from John’s knuckles. John smirked with a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

“Are you feeling alright, James?” He asked, his eyes returning to the road. James nodded once again, feeling more embarrassed of his conversational abilities by the minute.

“Yes, I’m fine.” 

John held open the door to the restaurant graciously, flashing James a smile. James nodded his thanks, stepping inside to warm air and the smell of tomatoes. His stomach growled, but thankfully John didn’t notice over the sound of calamitous chatter and forks hitting plates. John gave the waiter a small wave, requesting a table for two, and they were soon seated in a far corner, tucked away next to a window with a nice view of the street. As nice a view you can get of Philadelphia. James looked over his menu at John, who was running his finger down the wine list. John glanced up at James, not noticing how he’d been staring.

“James, do you prefer red or white?”

“I.. don’t usually drink, to be entirely honest.” John nodded.

“White, then.” 

The waiter returned and John ordered their wine, all while James stared out the window at passing cars. John looked over at him, before gently tapping the top of his hand to get his attention. 

“It seems we never talk anymore, James,” said John, filling James’ glass with wine. “We’ve both been so busy…” James gave a hum of agreement, bringing his glass to his lips. He hated wine. “I’ve missed our conversations,” John continued. James smiled, the familiar butterflies returning. 

“As have I,” James took another sip of wine, unsure what to say. John merely swished his wine in his glass, gazing out the window. After a few moments of silence, he placed his glass down on the table with a huff, looking at a startled James pointedly.

“How have you been, James? Seriously, talk to me,” he said, sounding oddly intense. His blue eyes locked with James’ grey ones and James swallowed. He almost shrugged, a reflex, but instead, he bit his lip, searching for something to say.

“I’ve been… decent.” John seemed to relax a little, leaning back in his chair. James went to take another sip of his wine, only to notice he’d finished it, a pleasant warmth filling his stomach and cheeks. John noticed this, smirked, and refilled James’ glass. 

“Just decent?” He asked with a pout. James shrugged. 

“How has work been?” James asked, desperate to get the attention off of him. John perked up, an almost evil grin lightening his face. He reached for a piece of garlic bread from the basket on the table.

“Oh my god, James,” He said through a mouthful of bread, “You will not believe what’s going on.” James placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. He raised his eyebrows quizzically, taking another sip of wine. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he originally thought.

“Abigail is going to court to impeach Hancock.” James spit his wine out and John handed him a napkin.

“Apparently he’s been committing tax fraud for years,” John rambled, his voice full of excitement. James covered his mouth with his napkin, putting two and two together.

“And you’re defending him?” He asked quietly. John nodded.

“Yep. How did you guess?” He asked smugly. James shrugged.

“You are the best lawyer in Philadelphia…” 

The smug look on John’s face faltered, and for a moment he was disarmed before he looked at James with a warm smile. He looked down at the table bashfully for a moment. 

“Thank you, James. That’s kind of you to say.” James just shrugged nervously, his cheeks going red. John leaned back in his chair, recovered from his momentary vulnerability, though a slight smile still graced his face. It was a good look on him, James thought. 

“So, James,” John broke the silence, “Are you seeing anyone?” James blinked, and after realizing what John meant, he scowled.

“Ugh, you sound like my sister.” John chuckled, turning to look out the window. “But to answer your question,” John raised his eyebrows at James, who never usually answered his questions, “No.” 

James looked glumly into his wine and John winced, before leaning over to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Put yourself out there, James. It’ll do you good.”

Easy for you to say, James thought. James gave a characteristic shrug. “Well, there’s only one guy I really like, so…” John gave a gentle gasp, his lips pulling into a smirk as he sipped at his wine.

“Who?” He asked quietly, his voice rising in anticipation. James snorted. 

“It doesn’t matter, John.” John frowned. “He doesn’t like me, anyway.” It hurt for James to say, and he had to avert his eyes from John’s gaze.

John gave a bitter laugh. “James, knowing you, you haven’t even asked him!” The sudden pout and reddening of James’ cheeks told him he was right. Their food arrived, and James hoped that would mean the end of John’s questions.

“So who is he?” John asked, through a mouthful of lasagna. James sighed, twirling his spaghetti around his fork. 

“I told you, John, he doesn’t matter.” John scowled, letting his fork clatter to his plate and folding his arms over his chest. James sighed. “John-”

“Have you even talked to him?” 

“Of course I’ve talked to him…”

“I mean about how you feel.”

James huffed. “No.” Talking about this to a man who was so utterly clueless was beginning to tire him.

John threw his hands up in the air, letting them fall back down to his thighs with a slap. “Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say!” James took another sip of his wine and John smiled. 

“Just tell him exactly what you feel, James. If he likes you back, then great, if not, you know you won’t be wasting your time anymore. It’s a win-win.” 

James looked up at John, his grey eyes filled with sadness. His hands trembled under the table and he felt sick. John’s bright blue eyes seemed to pierce his mind and he felt anxiety welling up in his chest.

“I love you.”

John froze, and for a fleeting second looked stunned. James could have imagined it though, as his face was immediately lit up with a grin, throwing his hands in the air triumphantly.   
“Just like that, James!” He chirped, “Now just say it to the guy that you like.” 

James felt like he’d been stabbed, but offered John a shaky smile before looking down into his food through blurry eyes.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “Just like that.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Abigail?” Martha knocked raptly on the open door to her wife’s study as she walked in. “May I come in?” Abigail slowly turned around in her chair, sliding a pair of reading glasses off of her nose and resting her chin in the open palm of her hand, a tired, albeit amused expression on her face. The entirety of her desk was covered in stacks upon stacks of papers, books on the law, and now-empty mugs of coffee.

“Darling, you’re already in. I don’t see the purpose of asking for permission.” 

Martha nodded thoughtfully. “Fair point.” She smirked, before leaning down, grabbing the arms of Abigail’s office chair, and pressing a kiss to her lips. Abigail gave her a tired smile when she eventually pulled away, taking one of her hands in her own. “It still never hurts to ask, though,” she mused, giving Abigail’s hand a slight squeeze. Abigail smiled, wrapping her arms around her wife’s waist and pulling her into her lap, resting her head on Martha’s shoulder. Martha brushed a stray lock of hair out of Abigail’s eyes with a fond expression.

“And how are you tonight, dear?” Martha asked quietly, stroking Abigail’s cheek with the tip of her thumb.

“Tired.” 

Martha raised an eyebrow, an amused, albeit worried smirk on her lips. She looked over at Abigail’s desk, evidence of many all-nighters. “Perhaps if you didn’t work yourself so hard…” Abigail shook her head, her hand moving to her wife’s hip. She gently rubbed the fabric of Martha’s skirt with her thumb.

“I have to, darling.” She looked up at Martha with smiling eyes. “Someone has to put that man out of office.” Martha rolled her eyes with a huff, fastidiously tidying her wife’s hair through her fingers.

“He is not a monster, Abigail,” she said pointedly, “He is our friend.” Abigail scowled as Martha pressed her forehead to hers.

“He is a corrupt politician, dear,” she protested. Martha stared at her for a moment, her eyes searching Abigail’s under furrowed eyebrows. She gave a small sigh, pressing a kiss to Abigail’s lips.

“He’s hardly corrupt, Abby. We both know that.” Abigail scowled.

“I will not believe for a moment that that man managed to accidentally avoid his taxes for a decade. He’s stupid, but not that stupid.” 

Martha smiled at her wife’s newfound energy, twirling her auburn hair between her fingers. “Stupid or not, he’s still our friend. Do what you must but…” She trailed off. Abigail sighed, draping her arms over Martha’s shoulders. She leaned forward, burying her face in Martha’s neck and closing her eyes.

“I guess I’ll call off the hitman if you really insist…”She said tiredly. Martha’s jaw dropped.

“Abigail!”

“Joking, dear.” 

Martha huffed. “He is our friend, Abby! I don’t want you murdering him,” she protested, “Or paying someone else to murder him.”

 

Abigail raised her hands defensively, a smirk twitching on her lips. “I shan’t kill him,   
darling. Promise.” Martha sighed, resting her forehead on Abigail’s shoulder.

“I’m worried, Abby.” 

A look of concern crossed Abigail’s face and she placed her hands on Martha’s back. “About what, dear?” She asked quietly, a hint of anxiousness in her voice.

Martha sat up with a frown, taking a deep breath as she looked down at her wife.

“About this case. About what the outcome could mean for us or for our friends. As much as I believe in what you’re doing…” She went quiet. “I’m nervous about what it could mean for our little group.” Abigail pulled her in close, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist and pressing a kiss to her collarbone. 

“It won’t come to that, dear.” She held Martha’s hand in her own, intertwining their fingers together. “I promise.”

Martha smiled, cupping Abigail’s cheeks in her hand and pressing a warm kiss to her lips. She gently pressed her forehead to hers, the sensation of Abigail’s light breathing tickling her nose. After a few minutes, the two eventually pulled apart, still meeting each other’s gazes affectionately. 

“Speaking of our friends,” Abigail pondered, after a moment of silence, “How were they all tonight?” Martha grinned, resting her chin on her fist thoughtfully.

“Well John was looking for you,” She started.

“John?”

“Adams.”

“Ah.”

“But I didn’t have time to tell him that you weren’t here before Hancock chased him out of the building, threatening to murder him,” Martha continued happily. A look of worry covered Abigail’s face.

“Is he all right?” She asked cautiously. Martha simply shrugged.

“No idea. Neither of them returned after that.” 

Abigail bit her thumb nervously, staring off into space. “I hope he’s alright…” she mumbled. Martha continued parting her wife’s hair calmly through her fingers.

“I had a lovely conversation with Mr. Thomson,” she chirped, “He’s a wonderful guy once you get through his sort of…” she trailed off, slightly flustered. Abigail looked up at her expectantly.

“Sort of..?” 

Martha swallowed. “His sort of… bitchy… exterior.” Abigail snorted. Martha threw her hands up, exasperated from not being able to think of a better word to use. “It’s true! He and Hancock are perfect for each other, honestly.” 

Abigail blinked. “As a boss and his secretary?” She asked slowly. 

“Well yes, but also as lovers.” Abigail stared at her vacantly and Martha gaped. “You didn’t know that?! Oh my god, Abby.” 

Abigail huffed. “Sorry, I’ve been too busy investigating Mr. Hancock’s crimes to pay much attention to his love life.” Martha smiled.

“Yes, yes, calm down. Richard spoke to me for about a full hour,” she continued, “About this new horseback riding school he’s opening up. He’s very excited.” 

Abigail smiled, placing her hand on Martha’s arm. “That’s lovely.” Martha opened her mouth to talk again, but paused. Her face fell.

“Caesar’s been put back in the hospital, so Thomas and George weren’t there tonight,” she said quietly. Abigail frowned, not saying anything.She looked away from Martha’s eyes, and they both were silent for a few moments before Martha spoke up again. 

“Everyone’s always asking about you. You really ought to come more often,” Abigail smiled faintly, resting a hand on her wife’s waist, and leaning forward to press a quick kiss to her neck. Martha readjusted herself more comfortably in Abigail’s lap. “Everybody there loves you,” she continued with a smile. “Though not as much as I love you.” 

Abigail smirked. “And not nearly as much as I love you, dear.” Martha scowled.

“Please Abby, let’s not do this again. You are far too competitive!” Abigail nodded, a silent vow to not get into another argument over who loved who more.

“Although for the record-”

“Shush!”

Early the next morning, Edward Rutledge scowled into his mug of coffee, glaring at his own distorted reflection in the warm liquid. He gently massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers, a headache pounding behind his eyes. He was seated in the far back corner of a small café, next to a wide window that looked out over the waterfront. He would have appreciated the view if the sunlight wasn't only amplifying his headache. He blinked tiredly, taking careful sips of his coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue. Every few moments he would look at his watch impatiently, his fingers tapping a rhythm into the table until he heard the familiar ringing sound of the door opening and he looked up to see his friend enter. He waved at Dickinson casually, who looked upon him with a smirk. He strode over to Edward with a sneer that Edward detested, before sitting down across from him.

“Christ, Eddie, you look like a corpse.” Edward gave John a cutting glare, before waving over a waitress to get John a mug of coffee. “I’m guessing you went out for a drink or two last night?” he chided. Rutledge merely nodded, his eyes closed.

“Or ten.”

John scoffed, thanking the waitress for his coffee, and began dumping packet after packet of sugar into it. “I’m guessing you had an enjoyable time, though?” He asked with a smirk, taking a tentative sip of his coffee. Edward smiled, leaning back in his seat. John chuckled, taking the smile as a ‘yes’. “I’m guessing Lyman did too, hm?” Edward blushed, fiddling with his napkin.

“I hope so.” 

John stuck his tongue out, feigning disgust, causing Edward to scowl. “You’re smitten, Eddie. Never thought I’d see the day.” 

Edward threw a packet of sugar at him, which bounced off of his forehead and landed on the table in front of him. He shrugged and tore it open, pouring it into his coffee. He rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, lazily stirring his coffee with a spoon, fixing the man across from him with a smug grin. 

“So how was it?” He asked casually. Edward’s eyebrows raised in confusion.

“How was what?” 

Dickinson rolled his eyes. “The sex, Ned. How was it?” 

Edward’s face went red, and he stood up slightly, almost getting angry until he realized that there was no reason for John not to make that assumption. Instead, he sat back down, flustered, and folded his arms over his chest. John took a sip of his overly sweetened coffee.

“We didn’t have sex.” 

John’s eyes widened in amazement and he slowly returned his mug to the table. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak, utterly stunned. Edward didn’t look at him.

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Shut up!” Edward spat, throwing another sugar packet at him. John giggled into his hand, his curly hair bouncing as he laughed. 

 

“I didn’t mean it to be rude, Ned.” Edward just pouted.

“How else is that supposed to sound, other than rude?!”

John raised his hands up in an attempt at a peace offering. “Right, right, I’m sorry.” Edward just huffed, staring pointedly out the window. John smiled into his coffee as his friend tried to rub the headache out of his eyes. John looked up at him eyebrows furrowing. “Still hungover?” 

Edward nodded with a grimace. 

 

“So what did you guys even do last night?” John asked nonchalantly. Edward continued to stare out the window. 

“Had a couple drinks,” John snorted at ‘a couple’ and Edward flashed him a glare. “He kissed me,” Edward said quietly. John sipped his coffee.

“Oh?” 

Edward nodded, considering lamenting about how good of a kisser Lyman was, but decided against it. “He invited me home.” John leaned forward slightly in his chair, his chin resting on his fists.

“And…?” He coerced. Edward blushed, staring down at the table. 

“And I refused.” John’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned back, scratching the back of his head.

“That’s… out of character,” he said, trying not to offend his friend again. Edward nodded glumly.

“I know,” he mused with a sigh. “I wanted to, honestly. I just…” He gave a pained shrug. Swallowing uncomfortably, he fiddled with his now empty mug while John looked on him with pity. “I froze up.”

“Now that’s very out of character.” Edward nodded quietly. 

“We did make plans to get lunch later, but…” he trailed off. John scowled at him.

“If you don’t go I will sit outside your window and haunt you for eternity, Edward.” 

Edward gave a huff but leaned back in his chair. “Fine, fine.” After a few moments of silence, he smirked. “So how was your date with Wilson last night, hm?” 

John’s mouth fell open for a moment, looking at Edward with utter confusion. “Date?” He mouthed, at a loss for words. When he found his voice, “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” He found his cheeks getting inexplicably warm at the thought of himself and James going on a date. Edward looked uncharacteristically embarrassed at himself for being so blunt. 

“Ah. So you were just humoring him then?” John looked at him with the same confused look as before.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Neddie.” Edward just blinked. “In fact,” John continued, “He told me he has a crush on someone,” John smirked. “You know everything about who’s doing who, yeah? Who is it?” 

Edward’s mouth fell open, at a complete loss for words. “John…” he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, John…” Dickinson just watched him in confusion. Edward slapped his hands down on the table, fixing John with an annoyed look. “So you’re not just pretending to be clueless? You’re really this dense?” John met his frustrated gaze with confusion.

“Clueless?”

Edward restrained himself from causing a scene in the small cafe which had slowly become more crowded as people had come in seeking breakfast.  
“It’s you, idiot!” He hissed. “Wilson’s in love with you! Always has been.”

John just sat there, stunned, his clear blue eyes meeting Edward’s, whose momentary anger had been forgotten. Edward smirked, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t believe you never realized.”

John let out a shaky breath. “You really think so?”

Edward shrugged desperately, unsure of what part of this John wasn’t understanding. “It’s hardly a secret, John! He’s a forests’ worth of pining…” He smiles at his own little joke.

John just rested his chin in his hands. “I feel like an idiot, Edward.”

“And you think I’m the one being out of character.”

After a few moments of silence, Edward’s curiosity got the better of him. “Do you like him, John?” John shrugged, unused to being put on the spot like this.

“I don’t dislike him. I guess I just never thought of it.” 

Edward shrugged. “Well, you’d better talk to him about it. Either break his heart or don’t, it’s tiring watching him pine after you for years.”

“Years?” John’s voice cracked. Edward nodded, his headache finally dissipating. Still nervous, John smiled at the thought of James liking him so much and paused to consider his own affections for the man. Not disliking him was an understatement. He thought back to all of the times he’d stared in utter bliss at the sound of James’ laughter or the sight of his smile. He thought of all the times he’d been rendered helpless at the odd compliment James paid him, or the way James’ touch gave him an inexplicable warmth in his body. He thought about how he’d never even noticed these feelings until now.

Oh, what an idiot he was.


End file.
